Timed Vacation
by ukie1
Summary: Ranma Sailor Moon Xover. Actually, it's a story about a cat, a flock of doves, a cockroach, a piano, a piano-playing Ranma, and a Setsuna who's not Sailor Pluto anymore but still can't stand cockroaches.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Ranma1/2 is the creation of Takahashi Rumiko, Sailormoon from Takeuchi Nakao, and "Long Vacation," the J-drama show from KNDY & the Asunaro Association starring Takuya Kimura and Yamaguchi Tomoko, belongs to Fuji TV.   
  
Note: A good deal of the romance scenes in the story is heavily adapted from the series "Long Vacation." If you can find a translated copy of the show, watching it is highly encouraged.  
  
Take it with a grain of salt. This is just some weird product I cooked up while trying to get back into writing shape.  
  
You have been warned.  
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- Prologue -  
  
1  
April 15, 1999  
11:37 AM  
  
This story began with a cat.   
  
She was extremely alert, in good physical condition with firm muscle tones. Her head was smooth, medium wedge-shaped, neither tapering nor massive, with a blunt muzzle but not any exaggerated pinch. No nose breaks either. Had a pair of rather large and pointed ears – translucent skin, thank you very much, as she would seem to point out from the way she looked at you at times – with very fine hair. Her eyes were large, often expressively so. A long and slender neck that that is almost regal in appearance gradually widened at the shoulders. Body and legs fine-boned, maintaining a characteristically lithe and graceful outline and carriage without being tubular in appearance. Her paws were small and slightly rounded. It would be an insult to even suggest that she had an incorrect number of toes. And, not that it's readily visible from her current position, but she possessed a perfectly-looking tail as well. Lastly, her coat was short, dense, fine, and plush. Almost like silk, her owner would say if she could be bothered to make the comparison. She presented the very picture of what an international show champion should look like, if only her hair wasn't standing on its ends at the moment.  
  
Luna shivered in a corner behind the sofa, suddenly coming down with a case of bad vibes this morning.  
  
This was a bad thing.  
  
Turning one ear to the sides without actually moving, she tapped back into the conversation around her after her owner's current string of whining had ceased. It never failed to amaze Luna the lung capacity that Usagi had. If anyone asked the moon cat her honest opinion, she'd reply that the only thing that could hold more air than Usagi's lungs would be her head.   
  
"Sure, I'll play the organ." Haruka said. "I used to play pianos all the time."  
  
"Okay, then that's settled. Let's see… I'll cross that item out. Next on the list, table-seating arrangements… hey, Ami, can you take care of that?" That would be her charge speaking. For Luna, the only thing good that'll come out of this mess would be that hopefully, Mamoru would prove to be a much more responsible owner than Usagi. She had her reservations, however; all male bachelors, no matter how-well dressed they appear on the outside, could secretly turn out to be total flea-bitten slobs that shed more hair in weight than they excrete daily, just like a certain cat not presently mentioned. She didn't know how she would survive if her prince's neatness habits were anywhere comparable to her princess's.   
  
"Um, Usagi," Ami interjected.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"We're pretty much near the end of the list, right?" The blue-haired girl hesitated again.  
  
Usagi didn't know where this was going. "Yeah?"  
  
"So, um, who's going to be the maid-of-honor?"  
  
"Oh." Usagi held a finger to her mouth, trying as hard as she could to think up an answer. Her brows creased so much from the sheer effort that air was coming out of her ears. "Crap!" She exploded, "I'd totally forgotten about that! I can't believe that I never thought of that and it's only three weeks to the wedding and oh my god what am I gunna do help me help me Ami anybody I'll die if you don't - umm… Naru?" She offered tentatively, instantly recovering from her bout of hysteria as soon as her brain finally came up with an answer.  
  
Rei rolled her eyes heavenward. "Nice try, odango-atama. She left for the States eight months ago." Then the fire senshi added, "Besides, you only have two weeks and a half left."  
  
"Waaah!" The bride-to-be went back to bawling her eyes out. Now, that's a thought, Luna winced at the high-pitched noise from the other side of the couch and muttered to herself. If she cried even half as much during the last fight, Sailor Moon could probably have drowned Galaxia in her tears. Moon Shining Deluge, or something to that effect. It's even marginally less embarrassing sounding than Chibi's Pink Sugar Heart Attack in her books.   
  
Tuning the rest of the conversation out, Luna curled inward even more and tried to go back to sleep. She figured that the worst case scenario would be that Usagi forgot to order a bridal gown and had to use the disguise pen on the day of her wedding. Now if only she could convince that the dread she was feeling earlier was anything short of impending disaster, everything would be just peachy.  
  
Her thoughts were derailed, however, as the air in their usual meeting room shimmered, then a vertical line of pure magic appeared and expanded sideways into a portal. Silence settled all around Hikawa shrine for a brief instant before the gleaming Garnet Orb poked through where there was only empty space a mere moment ago.   
  
Sailor Pluto followed briskly after that, gloved fingers gripping tightly about the silver-colored Time Staff.   
  
"Setsuna!" Usagi cried, latching herself onto the green-haired senshi in a heartbeat. "You're just in time! You've got to help me out on this one oh my god I'm like so doomed… hey, Setsuna? Say, would you be my maid-of-honor at the wedding?" Then, seeing no reaction or even acknowledgment of her presence, Usagi said, "Setsuna, are you listening?"  
  
Ruby irises that seemed to even outshine the brightness of the Orb darted around the room instinctively, almost as if she were on a battlefield. Then, only after they apparently found what she was looking for, Sailor Pluto allowed her posture to relax. "Finally… everything… it's all fixed." Her shoulders slumped forward in a very uncharacteristic manner, Setsuna said to no one in particular with surprisingly thick emotion. Then, as abrupt as her entrance, Setsuna vanished without another word, leaving a wide-eyed and quite off-balanced Usagi a detailed look at the grain textures of the cookies Makoto set upon the table earlier as she crashed into the plate of snacks.  
  
Rei rose up from her place at the sofa immediately. "Usagi! Are you all right?" Seeing that her princess's head proved to be sturdier than the metal plate, the shrine maiden sighed in relief. Then frowned. "That Setsuna… barging in again out of nowhere! I can't believe she still does it after all this time."  
  
"Do you think we have another enemy showing up?" Shrugging and straightening herself from her seat next to her lover, Michiru - who barely spoke all morning - offered. "Pluto didn't look herself when she dropped by."   
  
"Naah. I doubt anybody would want to fight us after Galaxia." Haruka said. "But, you're right though. If I didn't know better, I could've sworn that Setsuna looked like she was crying."  
  
Minako, still flipping through the bridal catalogue and admiring the various dresses, looked up at that and called a quick time-out. "Okay, time-out, time-out." Completely bug-eyed, she crossed her fingers in an "X" in front of her and asked, "Setsuna, crying? You must be kidding. I don't think she'd shed a tear if she saw her own coffin being pried open."  
  
"That's 'nailed shut'… oh never mind," Makoto corrected in an exasperated tone. "But if she were crying…" Here, her voice dropped the customary fifty-decibels to make it qualify for a conspiratorial whisper as the brown-haired girl sneaked a furtive look to everyone in the room, "Could she be… jealous?"  
  
At once, all heads – even Luna's – turned towards the princess.  
  
"Mmmph mmm mmph mmmmph mmm," said a surprised Usagi who was busy cleaning off the last bits of crumb on the plate until now. "What?"  
  
Naturally, as she was already curled up like a ball, Luna did not face-fault like all the other girls in the room.   
  
Unfortunately, she did something worse in her opinion. She shivered again.  
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April 29, 1999  
10:15 AM  
  
As it turned out, Usagi did order a gown ahead of time. She even remembered to show up at the rehearsal without anyone's help, a sign which Luna took as either a positive step to Usagi's growth, or that the world was going to end very soon. She had actually bet on the latter and, fortunately for the rest of the world, lost against Artemis. However, that did not mean there were no problems in the meantime…   
  
"Has anybody found Mamoru yet?" A nervous Rei came out of the ladies' room and asked the others, who had formed a loose circle while waiting outside. A collective shake of heads was her reply. "Damn. Odango's been crying and throwing a fit in there."   
  
"We sorta heard," Michiru said, "along with everyone else on this side of town."  
  
Makoto mused. "Still, it's not like him to be this late. I mean, a whole hour?"   
  
"Here, here," Minako waved a pamphlet in the air excitedly. "I just picked this little thing up somewhere the other day, and I bet it'll tell us what to do in case something like this happens." Unfolding her copy of 'You Know Your Upcoming Wedding is Going Down the Drain When…', she quickly found the item addressing the current issue. "…number three." She read aloud superfluously, as by this time most of the group had gathered behind her to read it themselves already:   
  
(3) Unexplained absences or lateness to prearranged meetings. This situation should be treated as an emergency, as it most likely means that your partner has second thoughts about lifelong commitment. Skipping out on wedding rehearsals is especially considered as an indication of trouble.   
  
Solution: If you are a male, do nothing. It is clear that your partner thinks you are unworthy of her love and decides to elope with someone else. If you are a female, however, hunt down the male immediately and beat his ass up to show what happens when you mess around with the superior gender.   
  
At this time, Usagi chose to make it a known fact that just because she was crying didn't mean that she couldn't hear. The girls cringed as the wailing rose yet another octave.   
  
"…hey, what the hell?" Minako asked after she finished reading the rest of the pamphlet. "That's like their solution to every single problem! Who wrote this crap anyway?" She turned the pamphlet over to the front with a quick flick of wrist. "Hmm. New Joketsukotsu Press. Never heard of it." She shrugged and threw the thing away into a nearby trash bin.  
  
"You know," Setsuna said, "You girls have a nasty tendency to exaggerate the problems. Mamoru's probably just delayed by the traffic. I know you were almost late too, Haruka, and I know how fast you drive."  
  
"Yeah," the latter agreed. "Highway was really congested today."  
  
The hysterical noises from the other side of the wall slowly tapered off to barely a whimper.  
  
"See? There's no need to make a big fuss." The Senshi of Time continued, her eyes never leaving the door to the ladies' room. "In fact," she added casually, "I can guarantee you that nothing Endymion does will ever top what my fiancee did."  
  
Seeing that what Setsuna was saying had calmed their princess down considerably, the rest of the girls followed suit and concurred encouragingly, at least until their minds had digested the info that was put out. "Fi-fiancee?" They queried eerily in unison, various degrees of shock written on their faces. Holy shit, some guy was willing to marry Pluto? Didn't he know how long that woman can carry a grudge if she chose to? Poor guy, Rei remarked, he must have been a great man though. Waitasec, said Minako, a great man? Didn't Gandhi die back in the forties already? Setsuna-mama wouldn't go for married guys, Hotaru whispered. And besides, he's too thin. Then who else had the tolerance to propose to someone like Setsuna? Asked Minako. Must be that she was desperate enough to go back in time and hooked up with one of the disciples of Jesus, Makoto concluded.  
  
"Ahem." The subject of the senshi's latest rumor cleared her throat lightly. All debates regarding which self-torturing hermit back in the Middle Ages would have been a likely fiancée candidate for Setsuna ceased instantly. "Actually, it's ex-fiancee," she corrected in a tone that could not be more casual than if she had been discussing the prices of watermelons and bananas with a street vendor, "I was jilted at the altar."  
  
Oh, that makes perfectly good sense then, Minako continued on from where she left off. I knew Pluto couldn't possibly have landed a guy before I do; that'd be like the most unfair thing in the world…   
  
And then the full meaning of what Setsuna said hit her, and her jaws joined her fellow senshi's to occupy a space on the carpeted floor.  
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2  
October 5, 1996  
2:24 PM  
  
Her name was Meiou Setsuna.   
  
She was a small-time model, well-known only to those who would collect clothing catalogues from various department stores. Her dream of becoming a fashion designer went unrealized, after she discovered how shady the business was when her fifth employer demanded favors from her before he'd consider using her work. A particularly bad argument between her and her family ended when she left home for good, and two years of grand aspirations and abysmal luck later she found herself sitting in a dingy coffee shop in Juuban, reading her latest assignment.  
  
Pushing a stray lock of green hair backward, she muttered something darkly. "Great. Another dead-end job, posing for kitchen-ware sales at a local supermarket." She sighed. Not exactly uplifting news, considering that she was competing for the cover page against a gleaming selection of deluxe china set marked down with a 40% discount.   
  
She had thought of making things up with her folks, but held back each time when she remembered that her eight cousins – two lawyers, three doctors, one intern, and two successful businesswomen – plus their families were all probably back home waiting to make a laughing stock out of her, especially when she declared that she was going to make a name out of herself in the fashion business, that her name was going to outshine everybody else's and that five years down the road everything they wore down to their underwear and slippers would have her brand on it. Denouncing her politician of a father as a fraud in broad daylight before she ran away would have also made smoothing their relations somewhat difficult, never mind that her parents had already forgiven her for the outcry and only wished for her to settle down with a good husband because they had long ago decided that Setsuna wouldn't amount to much of a designer anyway due to her tasteless fashion sense.  
  
A brief inspection at the woman, from her fake diamond-studded earrings and pressed blouse down to her faded jeans and high-pumps that had a plastic sheen, would tend to make most passer-bys agree with her parents.  
  
Noticing that her green tea had gone cold in the meantime, she gulped down the rest of the cup and made a face of disgust. Checking her watch absently, she noted that she had to leave soon to make it to the photo shoot. Thinking back to the conversation she had with her future self just a moment earlier, Setsuna asked herself just what in the nine hells could have gone wrong…  
  
x x x  
  
She was making herself a light meal, humming a random tune on the fly. Wondering for the umpteenth time at how much she'd actually have to pay for electricity bills on Pluto if it weren't for the Silver Millennium magic that fueled everything from the Time Gate to the generators in her palace, Setsuna was almost startled when the microwave in the kitchen went "Ding!" and told her that the pasta was ready.  
  
It was a rare occasion for Sailor Pluto to allow herself to be drawn in by a lull like this and simply relax. This also meant that she was caught completely off-guard when another copy of herself stepped out from thin air in front of her.   
  
"Hey." The other Setsuna said with a hand in the air in a half-hearted wave.   
  
"Hey yourself." Sailor Pluto replied, her surprise neatly tucked behind the customary non-expression she wore on her face. "What's going on?"   
  
"Nothing," said the other woman. "Just dropping by to say that I'm going to be on a vacation soon."  
  
Her meal momentarily forgotten, Pluto asked with an arched eyebrow. "A vacation?"   
  
"Yup," said her future self merrily. Hold on, she was happy? Something was definitely going on.   
  
"And you are too," the future-Setsuna continued. "In fact, your current trip starts right about… now. Have fun."  
  
And then, with another wave of hands, the Pluto from the future vanished. Just as Setsuna wondered what exactly was going on, she noted immediately that something was amiss.   
  
Someone had turned the lights off in the palace.   
  
"An intruder?" Pluto yelled disbelievingly. Quickly summoning her staff, she teleported to the Gate nearby, thinking that whoever had bypassed the security must be trying to target the Time Stream. Led by the ruby magical light of the Garnet Orb, Setsuna turned to the massive, rune-covered construct, fully expecting to catch a horde of youma about to leap into the shimmering surface of the Gate portal to the past… when she realized that there were no enemies nearby.   
  
Unfortunately, that was also when she noted that the ancient runes carved into the Time Gate had stopped glowing, and that the watery surface of the Time Stream encircled by the Gate had solidified back into stone.  
  
Uh-oh, Setsuna thought to herself, right as the light from her Garnet Orb flickered once before vanishing as well and left her to be claimed by the all-encompassing darkness.  
  
x x x  
  
As the last of the Silver Millennium magic left her and memories of an unfamiliar life rushed in to fill the void, the former Senshi of Time stared at the empty cup of green tea in her hands and at once realized that something in the past had been altered so drastically that she had lost all power as a result, and that there was no way she could possibly fix the error in her present state. Faced with a myriad of questions about what could have gone wrong and coming up with no apparent answer, Setsuna could only think of one thing to say to sum up her current predicament:  
  
"Fuck."  
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October 5, 1996  
2:24 PM  
  
A young man strolled down the sidewalk on a street in Juuban, a small backpack that had seen its share of travel rested on his back. Measured strides carried him against the general flow of the crowd, mostly students who had just finished their half day of school on a regular Saturday and were looking to go to the mall or the movie theatre nearby. His feet guided him towards nowhere in particular; he had started out from the east side of town, traversed the district northward, then down south to the shopping blocks and the movie theatre, circled twice around the last block, before he started back east again.  
  
Light breeze tickled his pigtail and lifted it playfully in the air. He walked past another building, stepped on a black cat without even noticing, and turned left at the following street. The cat leapt away from the sidewalk in a mixture of both surprise and pain, and landed right on the back of a produce truck. It would eventually find itself in Hokkaido.  
  
Briefly, he thought of happier times. Like last night, in fact. Despite the part that when he turned to Akane and told her how funny Satomi looked in the end when she was crying, the way that boogie trailed down her nose and past her lips, he found his fiancée about to go through her second box of tissues. Or the part when Hideo launched a reverse-spin kick that whiffed, only to produce a gun in his right hand before he landed and killed the Yakuza boss with a bullet to the heart that Akane thought was totally cool and he thought was utterly lame, because his kick wouldn't have missed. Despite all that, the movie date shouldn't have ended that badly – and yet it did.  
  
It had been Mousse, without chains, bearing down on them as he descended from his point of ambush on a rooftop on their way back. Something in the guy's eyes – a perpetual fogginess, it appeared – had been lifted, he noted, but now only a sort of weariness replaced the haze. Somehow Mousse finally understood that Shampoo would never come to love him, and in a moment of complete despair he went over the edge. Kill me, he said. End this farce. It had been Mousse, his blades inches away from Akane's throat, when his request was denied. Kill me, like you killed Saffron, he repeated, or I'll kill her.  
  
It had been Akane, shocked, panicking, and screaming his name.   
  
And finally, it had been himself, fists charging, ki-blazing, aiming a killing blow at Mousse's head. And never connecting.  
  
The hand that held the sword lowered. There was no blood on it. Coward, said Mousse bitterly as he fled into the night, I thought you were better than me. And Akane, tearful, slumped to the ground and on her knees, overwhelming relief almost hiding an unnamed accusation in her eyes. It was nearly enough to convince him that she did not feel somehow betrayed.  
  
Neither of them said a word as they went back to the dojo. Akane excused herself and went upstairs. He went back to the guest room and packed.  
  
Ironic. She didn't even break the engagement this time.   
  
Thinking back, the disastrous wedding should have been enough to warn him, but he either ignored the sign or failed to see it. Somehow, things in Nerima had escalated into something much more while nobody noticed. It was partially a creation of his own, his inability to choose between the fiancées because of his honor, but every person he dragged into this mess contributed to the overall problem in their own ways. And it was taking over, this amorphous tangle of engagement and death threats and obsessions and temper tantrums, becoming a vicious cycle that was starting to sustain itself, coming alive like the sludge monster Akane made once in Home Ec. with natto beans and jelly and a basketful of fish eyeballs, only that he couldn't kill it with Mouko Takabisha or any other technique he knew. It had taken up until that night to make him realize how deadly this whole mess had become. Someone had to do something about it.  
  
The clothes he had should last him a good while; the money he had much less so. He crept silently into Akane's room before dawn, nearly brushed his lips against her cheeks enough to taste the salt left overnight, and hesitated before he left.  
  
He had been walking since then.  
  
Each step took him further away from home, and he treaded each step meticulously as if walking a tightrope. One misstep and he would tumble headlong in either direction; killing someone – a sacrilege to the Art, or not being able to save the ones he cared – an unforgivable crime. Last night, it had ended and he found himself still standing on the wire. He was not so sure where he would end up next time.   
  
He had paused at an intersection, felt the heat of the sun on his chest, and doubled back the other way. Long and perilous the Path may be, it should not have been a balancing act. Perhaps, then, he thought to himself, I have to let go further. Perhaps I need to leave the Art behind, and start living for something else. A hundred other perhaps filled him in the time it took the sunlight to travel upward along his back, and though the uncertainty made him pause in his tracks several times it did not stop him. After all, he thought, everything will work itself out in the end. And he will never lose.  
  
Because he was Saotome Ranma.   
  
He stopped under the sign of some small, dingy looking café, ducked inside, pulled out some change from his pocket, gulped down a glass of lemonade to quench a momentary thirst before taking off again. As he headed for the exit, he saw something out of the corner of his eyes and paused. A girl, back turned, sitting at the rear end of the shop. He noted that she had a lustrous wave of green hair. He left.  
  
And this, plus the cat, is their story.  
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A very late entry for the Ranma/SM Crossover Generator Challenge…  
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TIMED VACATION  
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A crossover fanfiction from  
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ukulele studios  
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Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)  
Composed by: CAGNET 


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One  
  
1  
October 5, 1997  
10:00 AM  
  
Asking those who just witnessed the event would yield four very different answers.  
  
Forty-seven percent of the group surveyed would believe that it was probably some scene in a movie being filmed. Despite that no filming crew was present around the area.  
  
Twenty-nine percent tended to think that it was some elaborate joke. Within this group, only fifty-two males would request the phone number of the subject of the event, compared to an overwhelming four-hundred-and-eighty-five in the last group, due to the fact that the average age of this survey group was about sixty-eight years old.   
  
Another eighteen percent would tell you to fuck off because they didn't have a clue. Their names might appear in short obituaries on the papers summarizing some truly horrific deaths sometime in the future.   
  
The last six percent of the survey would say that it must have been some strange Japanese ritual or custom, due to the fact that the group is comprised of two busloads worth of ignorant American tourists. The tour guide was approached later on this matter, and her opinion went along with the third group. She would get run over by an 18-wheeler two months later while picking up spare change in the middle of a road.  
  
Interestingly enough, the only correct answer would come from a group not surveyed above, both because they couldn't be reached for comment and because they couldn't speak human tongue in the first place. However, if you were able to understand the collective thoughts of a small flock of doves that gathered at a nearby square five minutes earlier, you would probably have heard something like this as they took off into the air:  
  
(Damned human! Can't she see that we're having breakfast?)  
(I swear, one more time this happens and I'm going to poke somebody's eyes out.)  
(No, you can't do that! Mother said we're only allowed to poop on them when we get mad, and only at five stone-throws aboveground or higher in case they got slings. If it makes you feel better, though, you can still aim for the eyes.)  
(All right, but still… just because she was ditched by her mate doesn't give her a right to trample all over us!)  
  
Meanwhile, the horrific cacophony of click-clacking noises that trailed the footsteps of the subject discussed above had finally quieted as a pair of sandaled feet came to a halt.  
  
Meiou Setsuna, small-time model, ended her twenty-minute cross-town rampage in front of an apartment building on the outskirts of Minato-ku. She had jet-black hair coiffed in a fancy ornamental headdress, a matching white robe with sleeves that went past her fingers and skirt that ended just above the ankles, and enough powder on her face to kill a small kitchen fire. Panting, she turned her back to the front door and slumped against it, rivulets of sweat making tracks along her powdered face. Her eyes rolled towards the heaven in utter disbelief. The sun winked back at her innocently, as if to say, yes, it's Sunday, October the Fifth; congratulations, your wedding starts in thirty minutes, and it's still thirty-five degrees Celsius outside today. Half a block away, a boy no older than ten was happily licking away at a lollipop, looked up and saw her, then started pointing his fingers at her and yelling out something excitedly.   
  
Still gasping for air, she had enough strength to give him a deathly glare that rivaled Sadako's from "The Ring." The kid recoiled from the stare, dropped his candy, and ran away crying.  
  
A few moments later, Setsuna shakily pushed herself off the doors. Briefly adjusting the headdress with one hand, she yanked the door open savagely with the other and marched inside. Looking around, she cursed; just her luck, no elevators. Setsuna hiked up her thick skirt so as not to trip over herself, and started to climb the stairs.  
  
She had just found her breath; now it was time to find her man.  
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2  
October 5, 1997  
10:03 AM  
  
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.  
  
A hand appeared from underneath the blanket, fumbled its way towards the small counter nearby until it found the alarm clock, then pressed a large white button on it.  
  
It had rained earlier this morning. He had woken up briefly when a particularly strong peal of thunder sounded like an explosion not too far off in the distant.   
  
The hand retreated back into the blanket.  
  
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.  
  
The hand emerged from the blanket once more, climbed up the counter, and pressed the button on the clock more firmly this time.  
  
The two of them had talked late into the night, and despite his wish to help, Takuya would not allow him to help pack. Nor did Takuya want to be seen off this morning. As lousy as his own social etiquette was, it just didn't feel quite right for friends to part without even a last handshake or something. Oh well. He'd long grown used to Takuya's strangeness and the man's need for privacy.   
  
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg. Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.  
  
Just as his had was going to pound the alarm clock into a pulp, his mind made a monumental leap in logic. Oh, he thought, it must've been the doorbell.  
  
Ranma sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He looked at the clock: 10:05. Not bothering to cover a yawn, he got out of bed, feet scraping the floor and shuffling him out of his room towards the foyer.  
  
He opened the front door.  
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3  
October 5, 1997  
10:05 AM  
  
Hmm. How nice. A bride. Never seen her face before. Kinda cute, too, if a bit older than himself.  
  
A fifteen-pound headpiece, slightly drooped to the left. Check. Flowing robe that almost touched the ground. Check. Ankle-length white socks and strapped sandals, check. Black stains on the socks and the bottom of the skirt, check. Probably stepped on a puddle or something left from the rain. Woman muttering something about a "Yamaguchi-san." Check. Panting like a horse and eyes bulging like a fish out of water – now, that's something new.  
  
Ranma shut the door behind him and headed back for bed. It was way too early for this shit.  
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4  
October 5, 1997  
10:06 AM  
  
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg. Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.  
  
Door opened. Again.  
  
"Yamaguchi-san?" The woman asked again, apparently recovered enough from her recent lack of air. Her hands moved out to adjust the wrinkles on his shirt. "Why are you looking like that? Don't you know what time it is?"  
  
A tentative pause. The hands withdrew. She took a step back, looking at him critically. "Hmm, you shaved. That's good," she remarked absently, before noticing something else. "Huh, no glasses either. And when did you start wearing a pigtail?" In the end, a conclusion was reached. "You're not Yamaguchi-san?"   
  
He shook his head.  
  
The woman immediately ignored him. "Yamaguchi-san!" She called out into the room. Finding the man still blocking the doorway, she tilted her head to the right and tried to see past him.   
  
"Yamaguchi-san!" Ranma moved his body to the left.   
  
She tilted her head to the left. "Yamaguchi-san?" Still no answer. He shifted to his right this time.  
  
Exasperated, she shoved a hand forward and pushed Ranma out of the doorway. Holding the folds of her skirt with the other hand, she squeezed herself past him and into the apartment. "Yamaguchi-san, where are you?"  
  
She ran past the living room and poked her head into the first door on the right. "Where are you?" She called out again. Ranma, still slightly dazed from the rude treatment he received, protested and unsuccessfully made a move to catch her as he saw where she was heading. "Hey, that's my room!"  
  
She yanked the blanket away from the bed. Nobody there. She scurried out of the room. Ranma closed his bedroom door in a hurry and followed after her.  
  
"Yamaguchi-san?" She poked her head into the other room. Nothing there either. Not even furniture this time. "Now where could he be?" She frowned and muttered to herself as she slowly retreated into the living room.  
  
"Yamaguchi-san?" She asked hopefully at the empty space underneath the sofa.  
  
"Yamaguchi-san?" She yanked the refrigerator door open and asked. No answer; not in the freezer compartment either.  
  
"Yamaguchi-san?" She dashed back to the foyer and called out into the closet. The name was repeated each time she moved a piece of clothing on the hanger to the side until her fingers suddenly stopped. "His favorite raincoat…"  
  
Defeated, she walked back towards the living room once more. She leaned her weight against the first thing she found, propped up an elbow, her chin supported in one hand. "Where on earth could he have disappeared to?"   
  
"Um, the piano…" Ranma weakly protested.  
  
Startled, she took her elbow off the shiny surface it was resting on and turned toward him. "Sorry," she said. Then, as if really seeing him for the first time, she asked. "And you are?"  
  
"Saotome Ranma, his roommate." Reflexively, he brought up a hand behind him, scratching the back of his head. His tone was almost apologetic.  
  
"Yamaguchi-san used to do that too," she remarked absently. Then, as if realizing something, she asked, "Say, do you know where he is?" Red eyes bore into his.  
  
"Takuya? Um, he just moved out earlier this morning."  
  
She nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. "I see…" Suddenly, she froze.  
  
Pause. Rewind. Play.  
  
And Ranma had thought her eyes were huge three minutes ago.  
.  
.  
5  
October 5, 1997  
10:10 AM  
  
"What do you mean, HE LEFT?" The woman in front of him screeched incredulously. Then, forcing herself to calm down, she went on in a slightly lower volume, "This has got to be a joke. I mean, the ceremony's at ten-thirty, and my parents and cousins are all at the square already…does he want me to go to the wedding all by myself?" She paced about angrily as she went on, walking back and forth in the small open space between the grand piano and the glass-top table in the living room.  
  
Something tugged at Ranma's memory. He excused himself and quickly went into the other room, only to reappear a few heartbeats later, a thin envelop in one hand. "Uh," he hesitated, eyeing first at the addressee on the plain-looking envelop, then at the woman who was well on her way carving a circle into the living-room's floor with her feet. Finally, he said, a bit louder this time, "Meiou-san?"  
  
Setsuna stopped walking. "How do you know my name?" She asked in an accusatory tone. Ranma pointed to the letter; or, rather, he pointed to the empty space in his hand where the letter had been two seconds earlier.  
  
"For my dearest Setsuna…" Setsuna threw away the torn envelop and began reading, her body sinking into the couch, legs spread apart ungracefully. Ranma saw an unhealthy amount of creamy thigh for an instant before turning his gaze somewhere much safer. "…Here," she thrust out the hand holding the letter and said, "Read this."  
  
"Who, me?" He pointed to himself, bewildered. "Why am I reading your letter?"  
  
"Because my eyes might go into shock, that's why! I'll probably get so mad from looking at this that my eyeballs will explode," she said, hand waving impatiently. Not wishing to argue further, he reached for the letter.  
  
"On the other hand, I think I'll just read it myself." She withdrew the hand. Then held it out again. "No, you'd better do it." And took it back. "Hold on, maybe not."  
  
Ranma stared at Setsuna for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "I think I'll just go back to my room," he announced.  
  
"Wait!" She stopped him. "You better read this after all."   
  
He turned, eyeing her suspiciously. "You sure?" She nodded. He gingerly took the letter from her, unfolded it, and began reading. "Dearest –"  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Ranma put the letter down, totally exasperated. "Now what?"  
  
"Give me a second to prepare," she said. She snapped her knees together, placed her hands on the bend of her skirt, and took a few deep breaths. "Okay."  
  
"Okay," he agreed, and started again. "'Dearest Setsuna: I'm sorry…'"  
  
Setsuna snorted in disgust. "Oh, what a beautiful opening."  
  
"Oh, it gets better," Ranma said. Then he paused. "Hey! Do you want me to read this or not?" He finally snapped.   
  
"Sure, sure," she made a half-hearted wave and said, "Go on." Seeing that it was futile to argue with the woman, he decided to just get the whole thing out of the way so he could ask her to leave.  
  
"Anyway, here's the rest," he swallowed before continuing. Hopefully, no more interruptions this time. "'…I'm sorry. During the time that we've been together, I've found myself falling in love with another woman. As she is the type of girl who can't seem to live without me, and you're the type of girl who can probably survive for ages even if I'm not with you, I've decided that it would probably be best if we say goodbye to each other. Yours truly, Takuya. – p.s. Please say hi to your parents and cousins for me at the wedding, and give them my deepest apologies. I'm sorry that I've never had the chance to meet them personally, and probably never will."  
  
Ranma put the letter down slowly. He had barely been able to finish the letter himself, his voice shaking several times during the reading and especially towards the end. Seeing no reaction from the other end of the living room, he added helpfully. "That's everything," he said, then glanced up at the woman on the couch with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going to be pretty.  
  
Setsuna, who sat motionlessly throughout the ordeal with a shell-shocked expression, made as if to say something, but no sound came out. To his surprise, her lips gradually widened, before finally setting into a beautiful smile.   
.  
.  
6  
October 5, 1997  
10:15 AM  
  
"I'm going to shove my staff so far up his ass his eyes will turn garnet!" Setsuna roared, grabbing the TV remote from the glass table and waving it around like a club. "You hear me, Takuya? You can run, but you can't hide!" She kicked the table aside and started looking for something to break. She saw the piano.  
  
Ranma followed the trail of her gaze and immediately went behind her. "Not the piano!" He yelled in panic, trying to restrain her flailing arms with his own and almost lost his balance as she kicked her legs up into the air in a desperate attempt to escape. Finally, her energy spent, Setsuna's body collapsed and slumped against him, her weight pushing both of them back onto the sofa.  
  
"Feeling better?" Ranma looked down at the woman in his arms after what seemed an eternity had passed, his eyes full of concern and warmth. He briefly noted that her headdress had fallen off sometime during the struggle, and a cascade of rich, emerald green flowed out as a result. Evidently, the black wig had been part of the headpiece.  
  
Her head still pressed against his chest, a much calmer Setsuna lifted her chin to regard him coolly. "No," she admitted honestly after considering, then went right back to screaming. "Let me go! Let me go! I'm going to kill him, the sonofabitch… Dead Scream! Dead Scream! Deeeeaad Screeeaaam!"   
  
x x x  
  
"Feeling better?" Ranma looked down and asked finally. Somehow, after the last outburst, they had ended in the exactly same position back on the couch. Setsuna tilted her head upward, lips pursing thoughtfully.   
  
"Just say 'yes'," he nearly pleaded.  
  
"…yes." She could feel his sigh of relief on her face.  
  
The two stared at each other for a few moments longer, then simultaneously jolted apart as they realized their proximity to each other.   
  
"Uh, well," Ranma started, scratching his pigtail uncomfortably. "I… I've gotta go and brush my teeth," he said.  
  
"…right." Setsuna agreed from the other end of the sofa, a slight distraction in her voice betraying her otherwise cool composure. "Go on, go on." She waved a hand at him.   
  
He didn't need further invitation.  
  
x x x  
  
Once he was by himself in the bathroom, Ranma had time to reflect on what was turning out to be one of the worst mornings he'd had the pleasure of waking up to since he left Nerima. Looking up at the mirror, he peered at his reflection and noted off-handedly that he still looked exactly as he did one year ago.   
  
Honestly, why do things like this always happen to me? He thought, bending down to the sink again, toothbrush working furiously in his hand. Didn't this kind of stuff only happen in Nerima? And what's the deal about all that "Dead Scream" shit?  
  
A knock on the bathroom door brought him out of the trance and reminded him that he was not alone in the house.   
  
"Um, Sa…otome-san?" Setsuna asked from the other side uncertainly, trying to pronounce his name.  
  
He spat out the paste in his mouth, rinsed, and quickly went to wiping his face with a towel from the rack. "Oh, you need to use the bathroom?" He asked. "Hold on, I'm almost done."  
  
The bathroom door creaked open. Ranma took the towel away from his face and turned in slight disbelief. Surely she didn't need to go that badly.  
  
Seeing the questioning look on his face, Setsuna amended hastily, still peeking from behind the door, "Er, no, but, I just thought of something…" she trailed off, not knowing how to begin. He looked at her expectantly.  
  
"How old are you?" She asked abruptly. Eighteen, he said, eyes blinking in confusion. Setsuna nodded to herself. "A bit young…" she remarked to herself softly before continuing. "See," she explained, "I was thinking, you know, how it's the nineties and all, and it's not that big of a taboo anymore for younger guys to get together with women older than themselves… like, that actress Miyazawa and, what's his face, that sumo-wrestling champion–" she paused, fingers drumming on the doorframe, eyebrows creased in an attempt to recall the name.  
  
"Takanohana," he supplied.  
  
"–right, Takanohana." Setsuna said, squeezing her body past the opening in the doorway. "And, like, if you have five minutes, you can probably get cleaned up and put on something nice…" she broke off again, swallowing a little.  
  
"Yea, so?" Ranma had no idea what the connection was. Suddenly, he found himself backed up against the wall, a slender to each side of the space around his neck, face to face with the woman with those strange red eyes that pinned him down like a trapped animal. He could feel her hair draping his shoulders.  
  
Setsuna looked at the young man intently, the distance between them so close that their noses nearly touched. Never in a million years would Sailor Pluto do something like this, a fleeting thought crossed her mind. The problem was, she was no longer Pluto. What was left of the Senshi of Time was a normal woman whose dream of a career constantly ended up in the gutter, washed away by the sewage water that was her luck. She was only Meiou Setsuna, as the past year had repeatedly pointed out to her, and Meiou Setsuna would be damned if she had to face the mass ridicule on this particular day from the pack of hyenas people mistook for her relatives.   
  
Setsuna stared into the blue irises of the young man's eyes for a bit longer, and saw only herself. A decision was reached.  
  
"Marry me," she blurted. 


	3. Chapter Two

October 5, 1997  
10:20 AM  
  
"You want me to WHAT?"   
  
Surprised at seeing only empty space in front of her, Setsuna turned her head towards the   
voice that came from the living room, her hands still against the wall. She was sure she   
hadn't blinked, so how did he get away so fast? She ran out after him.  
  
"You have got to be kidding me! Do you have any idea what's waiting back home for   
me –" three fiancées, two Kunos, a pig, a duck, and a panda, plus a whole slew of deities   
whom he was sure he had offended in his past life to land him in all the mess he'd just   
left behind, his thought completed the sentence that he did not finish. "You, you –"   
Ranma sputtered as he struggled for words, then took a few deep breaths to cool down   
when he found none. "No," he declared, "Absolutely no freaking way."  
  
Finding her target backed up against the wall on the other end, she moved in to catch him.   
Ranma fled into the space between the piano and the wall.   
  
"You don't understand," Setsuna said as she trailed after him, hands clutched to the front   
of her skirt and raising it slightly. "My parents and relatives are all at the ceremony   
already, and you don't know how much I'd get laughed at if they found out I got jilted on   
my wedding day! Plus," she went on, "if you'd just wear a pair of glasses and go without   
shaving for a week or two, you'd look close enough to my fiancée anyway." She placed   
herself squarely on the other side of the grand piano, waiting to see which way he'd go.   
"Oh, and lose the pigtail too," she added as an afterthought, "but we still have time to   
take care of that right now."  
  
Ranma stared at her incredulously. "You're not touching my hair," he said protectively,   
then made his move.  
  
He feinted to the left. She dashed to her right.   
  
He doubled back to the right. She followed to her left.  
  
An impasse.   
  
Seeing that this was going nowhere fast, Ranma tried another tactic. "Look," he said as   
soothingly as he could under the situation, "you're not thinking this through carefully. I   
mean, you're probably a really nice girl and all, and pretty cute–" No, not going there   
again; he'd said the same thing to Ukyou and look where it got him in the end. Pausing   
for a moment to collect his thoughts, he finally said, "No. This is not going to work.   
Besides, Takuya might have changed his mind. In fact, he's probably waiting at the   
square for you right now."   
  
"But, the letter –"  
  
"–was a mistake," Ranma interjected, "Like I said, Takuya's probably turned around. I   
lived with him for a year, and I never saw him bring any girls home." That includes you,   
he almost added, but thankfully held back at the last second. Instead, he simply said, "He   
just didn't look the type that would play around."   
  
Truthfully, Takuya didn't look the type of just about anything, Ranma couldn't help but   
remember; the guy kept to himself so much that sometimes Ranma wondered whether he   
lived in the other room at all.   
  
"But, what if –" she tried to protest again, her tone weaker this time.  
  
Sensing that he'd somehow gotten the upper hand, he didn't give her the chance to finish   
her objection. "It's not about the 'what-ifs', Meiou-san. You have to make sure."  
  
Setsuna went still. "You really think he's there?" She asked after a moment.  
  
"I'm positive." He was anything but.  
  
"…okay," she agreed at last.   
  
The room fell silent again, leaving the two to their thoughts. And a chance to really   
notice each other's presence again.   
  
Setsuna looked at Ranma. Ranma looked at Setsuna's leg.   
  
Setsuna slowly brought her right leg down from the top of the piano, where she had   
attempted to climb over earlier. "I, uh, I guess I made a fool of myself back there."   
Ranma found it amazing that she could say something like that without actually sounding   
one bit embarrassed. He nodded.  
  
"You don't have to agree, you know?" She snapped.  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"Anyway," she started in a slightly miffed tone, then softened. "I'm sorry about the   
piano."  
  
"Oh… don't worry 'bout it. It's not like it got broken or anything," Ranma said   
dismissively. Would've been a completely different story if I didn't stop you back there   
though, he noted to himself.  
  
Setsuna afforded another look at the thing. It looked almost ridiculously massive   
compared to the rest of the living room. "This… is not just a hobby, is it?" She swept   
her arm in an arc in the air, vaguely pointing at the large instrument.   
  
"Yeah, I'm a music major at Gedai." Seeing that she looked slightly surprised for some   
reason, he clarified. "Actually, I've got a competition to go to this afternoon too." Ironic,   
he thought; the way the sun cast a lone beam through the window and onto the bench just   
now made it look almost like a spotlight in a concert hall.  
  
"I see…" she nodded absently. "I was never good with music back at school," she   
admitted. Then, curiosity piqued, she asked, "Hmm, a piano competition? You must be   
pretty good then. Can you play something?"  
  
"What, now?" He turned to her, startled. Seeing another nod, he let out a small chuckle   
that sounded more like a sigh, before turning his eyes off to the sides and clucking his   
tongue softly. "Um, no," he declined, "I don't think that's such a good idea. I mean, I've   
never really played for any person in particular before." A bit disappointed, she   
nevertheless nodded again in understanding. "Besides," he reminded her, "don't you   
have a wedding in like ten minutes?"  
  
Setsuna's eyes widened at that. She hiked up her skirt and rushed for the door.   
  
"Wait!" Ranma stopped her. She looked back questioningly. "You left your, uh, head,"   
he explained, one hand waving the wig and headdress he'd picked up from the couch.   
"Here."  
  
"Oh." She took the thing back, struggling briefly as she tried to bundle her hair together   
with one hand and set the headpiece back on her head with the other. "This looks okay?"   
  
"Sure," Ranma shrugged.   
  
"Thanks." She headed out once more.  
  
"Wait!" He called out after her again. "Um, do you have any money – for the taxi?"   
Seeing her blank stare, Ranma fished for his wallet in his pocket and drew out two   
thousand-yen notes. "Here," he said.  
  
Setsuna regarded him with an expression that he couldn't quite make out. "I'll pay you   
back." She took the bills from his hand and stuffed them into the folds of the robe down   
her front.   
  
Pausing slightly as she reached outside, Setsuna turned back to face him one last time.   
"Saotome-san?"   
  
"Good luck at the contest," she said. Then she left.  
  
x x x  
  
After he'd made sure the woman was finally gone, Ranma closed the front door and   
slowly sagged against it. How the hell he'd gotten out of that one, he had no idea. He   
did feel a small pang of guilt, though, lying the way he did at the end just to get her to   
leave. Well, he thought to himself, it doesn't matter anyway; it's not like I'm going to   
see her again anytime soon.  
  
He straightened himself up, finding some amusement at what had just happened. It had   
almost made him feel like he was back at the Tendo's again. A stray thought came to   
him suddenly. Hmm, I wonder what Akane's doing right now? He stopped himself,   
however, before it could go any further. Best not think about things like that, he decided,   
then locked the door behind him.   
  
Sighing, he walked back to the piano bench and sat down. He still had a contest to win.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
TIMED VACATION  
.  
.  
Chapter Two  
.  
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)  
Composed by: CAGNET  
.  
.  
1  
October 29, 1997  
3:45 PM  
  
The near-tropical weather three Sundays ago proved to be an aberration.   
  
Since that day, the temperature outside had dropped steadily. On the streets, thin jackets   
were gradually replaced by heavy coats and scarves as people went about their daily   
business, and when it rained one night last week there were thin strips of ice on the road   
the next morning. Tokyo had yet to see snow this year, but in the rustling of the bald   
branches all over town you could hear the promise that it wouldn't be long in coming.  
  
On this afternoon, when a particularly harsh wind was busy scraping small garbage down   
the sidewalks and tearing posters from lampposts and telephone poles, and not a few   
children wearing wool hats and puffy-looking jackets clattered their teeth from behind a   
pair of mittens, Saotome Ranma, in a black overcoat with a white scarf around his neck,   
was making his way back home in a hurry. A year of practice in socialization had at least   
taught him to dress accordingly for the weather if he didn't want to stand out like a sore   
thumb in a crowd, like the first time he showed up to teach lessons part-time at the piano   
store nearby in his sleeveless red silk shirt and black kung-fu pants. However, that didn't   
mean that he had to like what he was wearing. It made him feel almost unbearably hot.  
  
He had nearly made it past the small outdoor basketball court behind his apartment   
building before the sight of a pair of shapely legs stopped him in his tracks, if only for the   
fact that they were noticeably not covered by any piece of clothing under a wind that'd   
make most people wish they had been wearing their blankets on the way to work. He   
slowly traced his gaze from the ground up.  
  
Hmm, a pair of white sneakers, check. Looks pretty new. Short socks, check. Bare legs   
with a bit of varicose veins, check… wait, how far up does the flesh go? Never mind, got   
a flower-print mini-skirt there, check. A piece of ass that would've won awards   
compared to even his better-figured fiancées back in Nerima, check…  
  
I can't believe I just thought that, Ranma shook his head and mentally berated himself   
before going back to his brief inspection.  
  
Red, silk blouse underneath a plain white spring jacket, check. Green hair that went   
down the back past the shoulders, check. Slender neck, connected to a slightly angular   
chin, check. Round, full lips blooming blood-red from the lipstick, check. Nose that   
conveyed an impression of nobility, check. Red irises staring intently back at him, check.   
  
"Long time no see," Setsuna said, full lips curving slightly upward at the ends into a   
small smile.  
  
x x x  
  
"M-Meiou-san?" Ranma asked, startled. She nodded eagerly. He looked at her again. It   
was hard to picture that the smiling woman in front of him was the distraught bride-to-be   
who nearly smashed his piano three weeks ago on her wild manhunt.   
  
"How did the wedding go?" He asked. Then, flashing her a grin, he said, "Should I call   
you 'Yamaguchi-san' now?"  
  
"Yamaguchi," she agreed, before adding softly to the side, "if I were married, that is."  
  
Not catching the last part, Ranma carried on with the small talk. "Oh… congratulations   
then. So, what brings you here to the neighborhood?"   
  
"Oh, that…" her serene composure slipped slightly as she tried to come up with an   
answer. "I was just wandering around town." Then, smiling again, she said, "I was   
surprised to bump into you just now."  
  
The pigtailed young man nodded. "Right." Then, taking off the scarf and tugging at the   
collar of his shirt under the coat uncomfortably, he said, "Um, sorry, I've got to go now.   
Nice to meet you though."   
  
"Ah." Setsuna said, nodding. "Goodbye." She waved a hand at him.   
  
"Bye," he mimicked her and waved, before turning back and went on around the corner   
to the front of the building. She trailed behind him for a few more steps. "Goodbye," she   
said, still waving.  
  
"Er, right. Bye." He turned around once more and headed inside.   
  
x x x  
  
Ranma had barely time to kick off his shoes and hang up his coat before the doorbell rang.   
Frowning, he closed the closet and reached for the door. "Who the – Meiou-san?" Again?   
Didn't she say goodbye to him outside already? "Uh, what can I do for you?"  
  
Still smiling, Setsuna took out two thousand-yen notes from her purse. "I forgot to pay   
you back."  
  
"You don't have to –" Ranma's protest was cut off as she reached over and placed the   
bills squarely inside the breast pocket of his shirt. "–um, thanks, I guess," he said tiredly,   
sensing that arguing the matter would probably end up being another waste of time.   
Hopefully she would go now that she'd finished with her business. She smiled brightly.  
  
And she was still standing outside.  
  
Seeing that she still didn't intend to leave yet, he started. "Uh," he said, a bit   
uncomfortably, "I'm sorry, I'm in the middle of changing, so…" he trailed off, hoping   
that the unspoken request was plain enough.  
  
"Oh... okay." He sighed in relief at that, and made a move to close the door.  
  
x x x  
  
"What – what in the world are you doing?" He asked, grunting to keep the door closed.   
The woman was surprisingly strong.   
  
"Asking you a favor," she replied between gasps, trying to gain more leverage and   
squeeze through the opening her leg had made in the doorway.  
  
Momentarily speechless, Ranma shot back as he recovered. "This is how you always ask   
for favors?"  
  
"You don't understand!" By now, any hint of the Setsuna who was calmly smiling at   
everything outside his apartment had utterly vanished; in her stead was the maniacal   
woman he remembered all too well from their first encounter.  
  
"I don't want to under–" he started to yell back, but was surprised by a horn blaring from   
just outside the window. Setsuna put his temporary distraction to good use and wrestled   
past him. "The movers," she said quickly, heading straight to the window. Somewhere   
along the line, Ranma had discovered that this whole thing was starting to feel very   
familiar.  
  
She lifted the screen up and looked down. Three middle-aged men stood by the side of   
the road behind a small truck. Next to them on the sidewalk was a large sofa they'd   
unloaded already. "Hey, lady!" One of them looked up at her and yelled. "Where are   
we going to put all this?"  
  
"Give me a minute," she yelled out at them, "I'm taking care of it right now!" She   
ducked back inside.  
  
x x x  
  
"…And then?" Ranma had settled himself down on the couch, regarding the woman   
pacing about animatedly in the living room. This could take a while, he thought. He   
absently noted that instead of circles, she was walking in squares this time.  
  
"What else? I went back, and he was a no-show," Setsuna grounded out, eyes blazing,   
nostrils flaring, hands on her hips, her posture strikingly close to that of a disgruntled   
housewife. "I told my folks that Takuya's little sister –"  
  
"He has a sister?"  
  
"No, but they didn't know that." She waved a hand dismissively and continued.   
"Anyway, his sister – who's supposed to be kind of retarded, by the way, drove her car   
into a ditch on her way here, and since she lived out west in the country where the buses   
would take forever to get to Tokyo, she figured she could walk into the middle of a   
railroad crossing and hail down a train instead."  
  
Ranma twitched an eyebrow. "And then?"   
  
"…so now she's in a coma in the hospital, and he canceled the wedding at the last   
moment to see her when he found out about it."  
  
"…And your people bought all that crap?"  
  
"It took a little convincing, but they more or less swallowed the thing. Plus," she added,   
"I told them I was going to the hospital to see him and his sister and left before anybody   
could think of tagging along."   
  
"What about his folks? Didn't anybody show up from Takuya's side?"  
  
"We didn't invite them, and they wouldn't come anyway. He split up with his parents   
ages ago, and he's got no other relatives. But that's not the point," Setsuna said, bringing   
the topic back on track. "The point is, I forgot that I've given him my whole bank   
account earlier to help foot the expense since he told me he was going to handle all the   
planning, and by the time I got back home I found out that my account's been cleaned   
out."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"And then I got kicked out of my apartment," she said anticlimactically. "Since I was   
going to move in with him, I thought I'd terminate my apartment lease early and so I   
gave the landlord the notice last month, and when I told her after the wedding that I was   
going to stay, she told me that she's already signed the lease with the new tenants and   
that I have to leave by today."  
  
"…And then?"  
  
"And I thought I could live with a friend from work for a while, but she's married already   
and she told me their place was really small, and the walls were really thin…"  
  
"…And then?"  
  
"And then I remembered you. So I thought, hey, this is perfect; you've got an empty   
room, and I've got a bunch of furniture. So I told the movers to come here."  
  
Ranma rubbed his temples.   
  
Sensing that he was on the edge of caving in, Setsuna decided to go for the kill. "On top   
of that," she said pitifully, a sniffle all of a sudden working its way into her voice, "I just   
realized that today is my birthday, and I don't even have enough money to buy a cake."   
  
"…Are you pulling my leg?" He asked.   
  
"No, honest," she said, "It's my birthday today."  
  
She took a peek at him. He had his head buried in his hands.  
  
"Hey, lady!" The men from down below suddenly yelled out again. They'd been waiting   
for nearly twenty minutes now, and their patience was wearing thin. "Your furniture!"  
  
Setsuna poked her head out of the window, a contented smile on her face. She held a   
thumb up triumphantly.  
  
The workers cheered.  
.  
.  
2  
October 29, 1997  
9:29 PM  
  
Ranma eyed the damage.   
  
An extra couch – a nylon-cushioned two-seater in some wacky deco style – sat next to his   
own in the living room.  
  
Twelve – he counted – ladies' coats of varying lengths, colors, and fashions, in the closet.   
He had two. His old roommate's favorite raincoat was moved far to the other end of the   
hanger.   
  
Twelve pairs of shoes to match the jackets. Out of the dozen, eleven were pumps. The   
remaining one was the pair of white sneakers she wore. More than half of them were left   
out by the foyer in neat display rows because his one-row shoe rack couldn't fit.  
  
On top of that, ten wooden crates of… something, stacked five-high by the wall between   
the bathroom and Takuya's old bedroom.  
  
Bound, old issues of magazines, ranging from fashion to wedding to modeling to   
maternity to contemporary physics, lying everywhere on the floor.   
  
He didn't even want to think of what her room looked like. How the movers got that   
huge grand-oak dresser in and still found space to dump the mattress and table and three   
standing lamps in the same hundred-square-feet area, he had no idea.  
  
Finally, his eyes fell upon the other occupant of the room.  
  
Setsuna, sprawled out on her sofa, head falling backward and arms draping the cushions,   
an opened issue of Modern Physics covering her face, was looking right at home. She   
wriggled her toes.  
  
"…um, Meiou-san?" he asked weakly.   
  
Setsuna slowly brought her head forward, letting the magazine fall to the floor. "Hmm?   
Oh, right, I know. This only lasts until I get a good enough job that I can live by myself,   
or somehow find a cheap place I can live in." She yawned, then belatedly brought up a   
hand to cover it. "Sorry. It's been a long day."  
  
Ranma stared. "The movers did all the work, you know?"  
  
She shrugged. "I got tired just watching them move. Besides, I'm relaxing for them.   
I'm sure they'd appreciate it."  
  
She picked herself off the couch and stretched, fussing her hair with one hand. Then,   
suddenly remembering something, she looked at him curiously. "Say, Saotome-san," she   
asked, "you said the other day that you couldn't go through with the wedding because   
you've got something back home…" she trailed off, a finger tapping her chin in thought.   
"So, what is it? A girlfriend?"  
  
"A fiancée," he stopped himself too late and said.  
  
Setsuna nodded appreciatively. "I see…" she smiled a little teasing smile. "I was   
wondering why a good looking young man like you weren't attached in any way."  
  
Ranma shrank back instinctively, honed by years of experience from dealing with hoards   
of females waiting to drag him off to the altar the moment he let down his guard. "Hey!   
Don't get any ideas."  
  
"As if." She waved a hand, a gesture that he was becoming accustomed to by now. "I   
don't go for younger men."  
  
Feeling somehow slighted, Ranma's old ego resurfaced and prompted him for a retort.   
"Perfect," he said, "I don't go for older women either. On the other hand," he added,   
smirking, "it's a different story if the girl is classy, beautiful, and mature."  
  
Her smile frozen on her face, Setsuna's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment. Then,   
realizing that she's been led off-track, she recovered instantly and pressed on. "Anyway,   
about that fiancée… is she cute?"  
  
Ranma stiffened. He wasn't going to slip up again. "I don't want to talk about it," he   
said guardedly.  
  
"Come on," she pressed again, trying to test how far she could push the button, "you can   
tell me… what's it like? Love at first sight?"   
  
"I said, 'I don't want to talk about it,'" he repeated, louder this time.  
  
"Pfeh," she said, "It's not like it's a big deal. After all, we're going to be living together,   
so we might as well get to know each other a little. Unless…" she trailed off, feigning   
shock. "Unless you're cheating on her?"   
  
Ranma gaped at the woman. Letting her stay was one thing, this was another. "Are you   
always this pushy?" He asked heatedly, the stress of the whole day getting the better of   
him. "It's no wonder Takuya left you." Not seeing the stunned expression on her face,   
he went on. "I mean, I already had to put up with you barging in here and all, not to   
mention all the stuff you brought with you, but this –" he looked at her, finally aware that   
the other end of the living room had gone completely quiet.  
  
Outside, a drizzle started.  
  
"I see." Setsuna said finally, all warmth and earlier mirth devoid on her face. She   
walked into her new room, and came back out a few seconds later with a purse in hand.  
  
Knowing that he had just put his foot in his mouth yet again, Ranma asked with a mixture   
of dread and apology in his voice, "Uh, what are you doing?"  
  
Sliding the closet door open, Setsuna picked out the white jacket she wore earlier. "I'm   
moving out," she said matter-of-factly without looking at him. She stepped into her   
sneakers, jamming her heels into the shoes when her feet wouldn't go in instantly.   
"Thank you for putting up with me," she said, bowing formally. "I apologize for the   
intrusion. I'll pick up the rest of my stuff tomorrow."  
  
Ranma ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But… you just moved in today!" He   
protested, only to be left with a perfect view of the empty stairs outside through the open   
door.  
  
x x x  
  
Damned crazy chick, he thought. Who did she think she was, taking off like that after he   
told her to mind her own business? For that matter, who did she think she was, coming   
here in the first place and dumping all her stuff in his apartment?   
  
Not my fault, he said to himself. Not my fault that she got dumped; not my fault that she   
should be eating her birthday cake with Takuya somewhere off in god-knows-where on   
their honeymoon right now. This was not my fault.  
  
The rain seemed to agree. It began to pour.  
  
He peered through the window. She had turned the corner and was walking down   
towards the basketball court with her head down. Her suit was wet, and her dark green   
hair clung to her jacket like a damp mop.  
  
I'm not going out there, he thought.  
  
x x x  
  
"Meiou-san!" Ranma called out, carefully keeping his head inside the apartment as he   
opened the window.  
  
Setsuna stopped, not looking up. "What?"  
  
"You're going to catch a cold," he said. "Come back."   
  
She took another step forward.  
  
"Wait!" He yelled again.  
  
She paused. "Now what?"  
  
"It's raining," he pointed out.  
  
Setsuna shut her eyes in irritation. An empty soda can left out as trash on the sidewalk   
crumpled under her foot. She gave it a good kick, and kept on walking.   
  
The can of Pepsi clattered noisily on the pavement. Nearby, startled by the commotion, a   
few doves took to the air from the wire they were perching upon, squawking their   
objection all the way.  
  
x x x  
  
(Who the hell just did that?)  
(Geez, as if the rain wasn't enough… Dammit, I'm trying to sleep!)  
(Hey, it's that woman from a few weeks ago.)  
(You mean…)  
(…)  
(…)  
(…)  
(Well, what are we going to do about it?)  
.  
.  
3  
October 29, 1997  
9:38 PM  
  
Outside, by the vacant basketball court, Setsuna wiped a hand angrily across her face to   
clear out the rain. This was turning out to be one of the worst birthdays she could ever   
remember.  
  
Not even a month earlier, she had indulged herself in some sweet thoughts about   
candlelight dinners, whispers by the fireside, and not a few snuggles in the dark. It was   
not some thoughts that should have rightfully belonged to her, but back then she had   
already resigned to live her life out as a normal person and was caught in the moment,   
awash in giddiness with the prospect of getting married. Like a normal person.  
  
Letting a dry laugh escape from her throat, Setsuna picked up her feet and resumed   
walking.   
  
Well, the birthday's shot, she thought as she started down the sidewalk once more,   
picking out all the things that had gone wrong in the past month with her fingers. The   
wedding's gone, too. So was the bank account. And my stuff's still back there as well.  
  
At least I have a birthday song playing.  
  
Her feet carried her a few paces further before they came to a halt.  
  
Wait, a birthday song?  
  
x x x  
  
Inside the apartment, Ranma let his fingers linger on the keys for the last note before   
drawing them away.  
  
He started another song.  
  
x x x  
  
The dim light from the lampposts cast a long shadow on the sidewalk, set upon the paler   
shades of crisscrossing wires that had been there earlier in the night.  
  
Leaning against the fence by the empty court, Setsuna listened to the music floating past   
the windows down the streets below. It wasn't any tune that she recognized, but that   
didn't matter in the slightest. As unfamiliar as she was with music, Setsuna could   
immediately see the skill of the player behind the song; the way the notes went crisp and   
poignant even as the melody climbed into a maddeningly complex crescendo, then   
streamed out in a gentle flow as the tension dispersed spoke of the level of mastery   
needed to execute the piece.  
  
More, the music sang to her. It was not quite like the jazzy pieces she heard Haruka play,   
seemingly a lifetime ago, and not quite like the classical songs with regular beats and   
cadence that her boss sometimes listened to at work; it was a strange and pleasant blend   
of both – formal, like sunset, and free-flowing, like the last cloud that chased the sun over   
the horizon and into the night. Memories of Sailor Pluto flashed by her eyes, and she was   
suddenly there – at the palace, in the ballroom, the grand gala commencing as dusk   
settled in the sky outside the mosaic glass panes. She was standing, as usual, alone in the   
crowd, keeping a sharp eye on the various nobilities and dignitaries in the court, watching   
the other senshi waltz by her, waiting for the slightest gesture from the Queen to appear   
at her side and do her bidding. And the song, pushing past the throng, found her this time,   
made a formal bow and extended a hand. May I have this dance? It asked.  
  
She closed her eyes.  
  
I've traded my chance at marriage and my bank account for two birthday songs, a   
thought came to her impulsively. Then, realizing the ridiculousness of the thought, and a   
little surprised at how un-bitter she was at it even if it were true, she smiled.   
  
The trickling of the last few notes ebbed away as the song faded to a stop. Apology   
accepted, she thought fondly, but perhaps this was for the best. Goodbye, Saotome-san.  
  
Refreshed, and not a bit disappointed, Setsuna let her eyes open again and gingerly   
pushed herself away from the fence. A sudden, unwarranted sense of confidence surged   
through her, and she started down the road once more, ready to take on whatever   
challenges that life would throw at her again.  
  
She was not ready, however, for a wing in her face.  
.  
.  
4  
October 29, 1997  
9:58 PM  
  
The door to the apartment was yanked open, then slammed shut in an instant.  
  
"You're back," Ranma grunted from the bench.   
  
Setsuna was too busy trying to recover her breath to make any coherent replies, however.   
With feathers in her wet hair, a few scratches and tears on her white jacket, and some bird   
droppings mixed in with the rainwater on her face, she took a few gasps of air before she   
started screaming at him. "There were some crazy homicidal birds out there trying to kill   
me!" She pointed at the door in shocked outrage and said, clearly frightened.  
  
Then, after she had feverishly patted away the last traces of her recent avian assault,   
Setsuna calmed down considerably. Trying to muster whatever anger she harbored from   
earlier at the young man at the piano, she drew a curious blank, which she noted was an   
unacceptable answer. She finally settled with crossing her arms in front of her chest and   
a neutral expression on her face. "Anyway," she said, concentrating to maintain the   
frown she wore on her face, "I thought you said you don't like to play for anybody in   
particular."  
  
Ranma paused in thought. "…I make exceptions for birthdays." He said at last. Then,   
fully taking note of her current state, he added, barely stifling a laugh, "Bathroom's down   
that way."  
  
x x x  
  
Outside, an hour later, the downpour showed no sign of slowing down anytime soon.  
  
A few birds were dancing on the sidewalk.  
  
(Wahahahaha, did you see the look on her face when I caught her with that uppercut?   
Sho-ryu-ken, baby, sho-ryu-ken!)  
(C'mon, let's go! My feathers are all drenched.)  
(Hmm. Well, that explains where that other piece of poppy seed mochi went. On the   
other hand, though, I did manage to get past that constipation problem I've been having   
lately. They just don't make bread crumbs like they used to.)  
(Screw the crumbs! Did you see, eh, did you see? I bitch-slapped her good! Hahahaha!   
Tatsumaki-sempuu-kya–)  
(All right, we get the idea! Let's go!)  
  
The lights from the third floor window grew faint, then slowly went out. Beyond the   
heavy rain, and the few celebratory cries and sounds of flapping wings intermittently   
throughout the night, it was a relatively quiet evening in the neighborhood.  
.  
(END CHAPTER)  
.  
.  
Special thanks to: Figment again, and Thermopyle as well for pre-read and excellent   
suggestions on how to approach the piano scene near the end.  
.  
- ukie 


	4. Chapter Three

1  
November 14, 1997  
5:33 AM  
  
Some would call it evil.  
  
Some would call it a lot of names, as a matter of fact. The most frequently used, when   
directed at it, would be either "Aaah!" or "Aaaah!", or an occasional, full-fledged,   
"Aaaaaaaaaah!" The pitch and length of the "-a" usually conveyed the amount of fear   
and disgust it struck into the hearts of the humans who sighted it. Never mind that all it   
ever wanted was a little nourishment and a place to rest.  
  
Had it been able to think in human terms and realize that its kind had been loathed and   
hunted down by the humans throughout history, it would have laughed. Screw you, it   
would have said, and your momma too. My kind has survived the ice-age while your   
ancestors were still hanging off tree-limbs and didn't know what to do with a banana   
other than to eat it. Not that it would have done any different, mind you; about the   
banana, that is.  
  
Tonight, however, it had only thoughts for one thing - namely, a place to rest. Preferably   
somewhere dark, and slightly damp. It moved.  
  
Distance, of course, was never an issue; nor was height. There was only forward and   
backward, and sometimes left and right. All objects were either flat or mostly-flat, and   
the only differences lay in the wetness, softness, and the amount of heat they produced.   
  
It had just traversed a vast terrain of cold-dry-flat-hard, through another part of cold-dry-  
flat-hard, and was now on something completely different: cool-dry-mostly-flat-soft.   
And there was a fragrance in the air nearby, an enticing scent that it had never   
encountered before. It decided to investigate.  
  
The surface underneath its feet shifted, then shifted some more. It didn't matter in the   
slightest. It pressed onward, onward, onward, and finally hit the jackpot: lukewarm-  
slightly-damp-mostly-flat-pretty-soft. Not its usual type of resting place, but it wasn't all   
that picky about having a change in habitat. It tucked its feet inward and nestled its head   
against this lukewarm-slightly-damp-mostly-flat-pretty-soft.  
  
Had it been able to appreciate the glorious view laid out before its eyes, it would have   
thought: Lo, and it was pink.  
  
What it thought was: Sleep.  
  
What a waste.  
.  
.  
2  
November 14, 1997  
5:34 AM  
  
Having unsightly sleeping postures was a peculiarity of sorts that Meiou Setsuna   
inherited along with her particular senshi title. Something about the gravitational field   
and the rotational difference of the planet, no doubt, caused all the Sailor Plutos to twist   
and turn their bodies excessively but in a periodical and orderly fashion while they were   
sleeping on Earth.   
  
A quick study would show that at least twenty-five days out of an average month on   
Earth, the position of Setsuna's body in relation to the head of the bed followed a pattern   
(based on an eight-hour-average sleeping time) detailed as below. Observe:  
  
Two hours into sleep: Setsuna's upper body would bend roughly ninety-degrees to her   
right, feet pointing to the foot of the bed.  
  
Four hours into sleep: Setsuna's body would present a generally linear posture, but her   
head would now be pointing to the foot of the bed, and vice-versa.  
  
Six hours into sleep: Setsuna's upper body would bend roughly ninety-degrees to her   
right, feet pointing to the head of the bed.  
  
Eight hours into sleep: Setsuna would find herself awake in nearly the same position in   
which she went to sleep without realizing that she had, once again, drawn a full circle   
around the bed with her body.  
  
Almost like the hands of a clock, but running in reverse direction. The precision,   
however, like everything else Sailor Pluto did, was uncannily and inexorably perfect.   
  
In the hour before dawn, Setsuna slept soundly on her bed, her lithe figure a contour   
made visible in the dark by the silk burgundy nightgown she wore.  
  
As she went to bed at approximately 11:30 PM last night, she had just gone past the   
designated sixth-hour spot and was currently on her way to realign her body back to the   
zero-hour position. The sheets dragged and slipped haphazardly against the silk as she   
moaned and softly lifted a leg, her milk-colored thighs all the more prominent on the   
canvas of red.   
  
She stretched softly, arching her back into the air for a tiniest instant as a small tremor   
danced across her pale skin, before she fell back into the yielding warmth of the mattress.  
  
An arm languidly made its way across her stomach, up over her head, and in the end   
found itself buried under the mass of disheveled emerald tresses. A chancy deep breath   
made the kinks across the plunging v-line on her nightgown wink out for a brief moment.   
Then, before she let out the breath she was holding, she felt it.  
  
Small, feathery taps along the inside of her left leg.  
  
Still in the ethereal state between dreaming and waking, Setsuna shrugged it off, let out   
the breath, and continued to sleep. Besides, the feeling was actually somewhat pleasant,   
the waking part of her mind decided; not unlike the smooth fingers of a gentle lover   
leisurely caressing her skin. She snored softly.   
  
The taps continued. And began to climb up her leg.   
  
She obliged.   
  
The taps went higher, past the curve of her knee and up against her thigh. It was starting   
to tickle.  
  
The soft snoring stopped.  
  
Somewhat alert now, Setsuna's mind tried to collect itself from slumber and produce a   
coherent thought. The velvety touches continued, not unlike the smooth fingers –  
  
Saotome-san?  
  
of a gentle lover –  
  
Wait a minute…  
  
leisurely –  
  
That, that's too high…  
  
caressing her skin –  
  
Stop it; hold on a second…  
  
and resting against –  
  
You've got a fiancée!  
  
the secret –  
  
…And we've only known each other for two weeks! Stop! Saotome-san!  
  
Setsuna shot up, scrunching her legs against her chest in reflex as she curled herself into a   
ball, hands covering the area between her legs protectively. A scarlet blush matching her   
gown bloomed across her cheeks as she looked wildly about, drawing in rugged deep   
breaths all the while. Strange, though, there was no Saotome-san. It was only her, sitting   
in the middle of the mattress in the dark, her hair a mess like the crumpled bed-sheets   
underneath her. She sighed in relief. Then her mind immediately fired the unanswered   
question:  
  
Well, if it wasn't Saotome-san, then what the hell was that crawling up my…  
  
Uncomprehending, curious, and slightly apprehensive, she lifted her nightgown up past   
her hips.  
  
x x x  
  
Red eyes stared at a pair of antennae.   
  
Antennae waved: This is my turf, lady.   
  
Red eyes flew wide open.  
.  
.  
3  
November 14, 1997  
5:37 AM   
  
The other residents in the apartment building got an early wake-up call that day.   
  
Those who were already up and about, however, plugged their ears with their fingers   
quickly, took note of the vibrating windows, and told the couple on the third floor to just   
skip the hotel and go straight to a bomb shelter.  
  
x x x  
  
"-the hell?" Ranma leapt out of his room and flipped the light switch outside the door,   
instantly alert from years of vigorous training in the past and scanning the apartment for   
danger signs. He got a full-contact glomp by a shaking mass of feminine flesh barely   
concealed under a flimsy red nightgown.  
  
"C – Co – Cockroach!" Setsuna sobbed, pointing a shaky finger at her room. Sure   
enough, the culprit slowly emerged from under her door and leisurely strolled into the   
living room.  
  
"You woke everybody in the building up over a damned cockroach?"  
  
"You've got to kill it!"  
  
What is it with girls and cockroaches? He thought in vexation. And didn't she just get   
over her run-in with those killer doves? Suddenly, an evil grin made its way onto his   
face. This was the perfect chance for him to get back at all the trouble she'd caused him.  
  
"Why should I? It was in your room," he said, trying to sound completely indifferent.   
"You go kill it."  
  
Setsuna gaped at him in horror. Ranma smiled back beatifically.  
  
Abandoning the glomp in the interest of self-preservation, Setsuna dashed across the   
living room floor heroically, jumped over the glass table and dived into the couch on the   
far side. The purse that she left there overnight was snatched up and upended in an   
instant, and the contents inside spilled onto the sofa. No matter, however; her hand had   
found her ace.  
  
Forcing her heart back down her throat, Setsuna took a deep breath and blew as loudly as   
she could into the safety whistle.   
  
x x x  
  
This time, lights in the adjacent buildings down the block came on as one.  
  
The cockroach advanced.  
.  
.  
4  
November 14, 1997  
5:39 AM   
  
"DON'T YOU THINK THAT'S A BIT MUCH?" Ranma yelled as he followed   
Setsuna's fleeing figure out to the staircase, hands cupped over his ears.   
  
"You forced my hand," she managed in between gasps. Then, realizing that he couldn't   
hear her, she repeated more loudly again. "I SAID, 'YOU FORCED MY HAND!'"  
  
"OH!" He considered her reply and nodded. Then, seeing that the cockroach had just   
wandered out of the apartment as well, he gave it a gentle nudge in the right direction   
with a bare foot. Setsuna's eyes widened and desperately darted about, looking for   
anything that she could use to fend off the bane of her existence.  
  
"So," Having some time to clear the ringing in his head, he said more calmly this time,   
"What are you gonna do about it?"  
  
She pulled the fire alarm.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
TIMED VACATION  
.  
.  
Chapter Three  
.  
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)  
Composed by: CAGNET  
.  
.  
5  
November 14, 1997  
8:48 AM   
  
"Ah. Tchaikovsky." A voice announced from the other side of the room as his hands   
lowered to his sides. "Piano Concerto, number one, B-flat minor. Flawless as usual,   
Saotome-san."   
  
Ranma looked up from the bench. "Oh, sensei." He paused to scratch the pigtail. "Sorry   
about that. Didn't think anyone was going to be using the spare practice room."  
  
The other man waved it off. "No, it's perfectly fine. That's what this place is for   
anyway." He said, a few etched lines forming by the corner of his mouth as he smiled   
benignly. "You've come a long way in such a short time, Saotome-san. I've never seen   
anyone with hands as deft as yours, not to mention the way you memorize the pieces."  
  
"Ahh. It's nothing," Ranma replied, trying to sound embarrassed despite his mounting   
ego. "By the way, sensei, about the contest last month…"  
  
"Oh, that..." The older man trailed off, pushing a pair of glasses higher up the bridge of   
his nose. He shrugged uncomfortably.  
  
The hopeful expression on Ranma's face fell. "I see…"  
  
"The judges thought that while your skill was very remarkable, they just couldn't sense   
enough feelings in your performance."  
  
Disappointment gave way to puzzlement. "Feeling?"  
  
"Yes. While the other finalist was not quite able to match you in technique alone, the   
panel ruled in favor of her because she played with a tremendous amount of emotion."   
Pulling up a chair from nearby, the professor slowly sat down next to his student. "Tell   
me, Saotome-san. What do you feel when you're playing the piano?"  
  
Ranma regarded his teacher. The middle-aged man looked relaxed in the folding chair,   
hands resting on knees, waiting patiently. He scratched his chin with a finger reflexively   
as he tried to muster an answer. "Um, actually," Ranma replied hesitantly, "I don't think   
I feel anything when I play. It's always like… like I'm fighting against the piano. So, I   
guess if you want to, you can say that I feel like I'm in some kind of battle whenever I   
play."  
  
The other man closed his eyes and nodded. "Mmm, I see."   
  
"Is that… wrong?"  
  
Lips pursing, the professor was silent for nearly a full minute before he answered. "It's   
not wrong, per se," said the man, "but the piano – or any other instrument, as a matter of   
fact – becomes a conduit between the performer and the audience at very high levels.   
Sometimes, if you listen closely enough, it's almost as if you can understand what exactly   
the person behind the instrument is thinking through the music."  
  
Ranma thought about that. "I'm not getting it," he admitted at last with a small frown.   
"How can you tell what someone is feeling or thinking just by listening to a song?"  
  
The professor smiled back. "Someday you will, Saotome-san. Someday you will."  
.  
.  
6  
November 14, 1997  
9:34 AM   
  
My back's killing me, thought Setsuna. She was sitting so stiffly in her chair that, taking   
into account of her grass-green blouse, the matching light-green jacket, and the pair of   
plaid pants with green undertones that she chose to wear today, you'd have thought that   
she was trying to imitate a chameleon in the wild, attempting to learn how to camouflage.   
  
If she was trying to hide, however, she was not succeeding. The newspaper Setsuna held   
out in front of her was only nearly enough to hide her face completely from the girl   
sitting next to her. She moved it higher.  
  
"So you're the reason why the westbound traffic into town was paralyzed for half an hour   
this morning? Ahahahaha!" That was Momoko, the one person from work who stood   
out in her memories when she suddenly found herself working as a model a little over a   
year ago. They had grown quite close over the past year, which was why Setsuna   
endured without a word when the younger woman insisted on calling her "Senpai". Like   
now.   
  
"Senpai," Momoko continued, convulsing every few seconds from the effort of trying not   
to erupt into full-blown laughter, "you're… you're simply the best. I mean, who   
would've thought of trying to scare away a cockroach with an emergency whistle?"  
  
Setsuna glared at her friend. "Cockroaches and I will not coexist under the same roof,"   
she declared between clenched teeth. "Besides," she added defensively after a moment,   
"the whistle did work on those damned birds."  
  
"But… pulling a fire alarm?" Unable to contain herself any further, the young girl   
guffawed, slapping a hand on her desk several times as she did so.  
  
"I don't see why you think it's funny," said the green-haired woman stonily behind the   
thin wall of newspaper she recently erected between the two of them. "Do you know   
how big a fine I have to pay for this? And how I had to bow and apologize to just about   
everybody who lives within three blocks, plus all the firefighters and the police who   
came?" She finished testily, temporarily taking a hand away from the newspaper to   
massage her sore back. She winced.   
  
Seeing this, a fresh gale of laughter broke out from the seat next to her. Momoko, as   
Setsuna realized when the two first met, had a peach-shaped face true to her namesake,   
framed by a head of curly brown hair that went down to the shoulders. Her beige-colored   
blouse, red leather skirt and knee-high boots ensemble today could be called conservative   
at best for people who knew her well.  
  
Right now, however, Setsuna only took stock of her friend's visage. Flushing with   
uncontrollable amusement, the young girl's face looked even more like a ripe, succulent   
peach than usual. Setsuna briefly flirted with the idea of shooting an arrow through it,   
like the way that English guy William Tell did to the apples. She amused herself with   
picturing how much juice would leak out from the entry and exit points of the arrow all   
the way until Momoko's laughter had run dry at last.  
  
It took quite a while.  
  
x x x  
  
"So, Senpai," Momoko said at last after her mirth had wound down to only an occasional   
giggle, "you actually moved in with that Sao… something guy? You know, the one that   
plays the piano?"  
  
Setsuna put the paper down on her desk and looked squarely at her friend for a moment.   
She sighed quietly. "Yeah. His name's Saotome."   
  
"Ohhh. Sa-o-to-me-san…" The younger girl punctuated each syllable with a nod, eyes   
peering to the sides in thought. Suddenly, she inched closer to Setsuna. "How's he in   
bed?"  
  
Caught completely off-guard by the question, it took the older woman quite a while to   
produce an intelligible reply. "…Hah?"  
  
"Don't tell me you guys haven't even…"  
  
"Of course not!" Setsuna denied hotly. "Saotome-san and I have barely talked. Most of   
the time, he's kept to himself pretty much, and the only things he'd say were "I'm   
home!" or "Good-night!" We've chatted maybe once or twice during the whole time."  
  
"But, how come you never tried to find out more about the guy? Didn't you say he's cute   
and young and single? He's like–" Momoko groped for the description, then found it. "–  
like the perfect rebound candidate!"  
  
"Who said I'm looking to rebound?" Setsuna asked archly. "Besides, he's not my type.   
And it's not like I haven't tried to talk to him…" –it was just next to impossible to pry   
any information out of that guy, her thought finished. Two weeks, and all she knew   
about him was that he has a fiancée, that he used to live in Nerima, and that he's on the   
black list of every all-you-can-eat restaurant this side of Tokyo, a fact that she found out   
too late when she tried to treat him to one last week, only to get thrown out the door   
immediately. They ended up at a Ramen shop that night instead.   
  
In any event, it was just much easier – and safer – to leave her curiosity alone. She did   
not want a repeat of that argument on the day she moved in. "Anyway," Setsuna said,   
"this is not what you think it is, Momoko-chan."  
  
"But," Momoko protested, fingers intertwined as she clasped her hands in front of her,   
"but it's so romantic! How can you pass this up? I mean, you're, like, practically living   
with Elton John!"  
  
"I don't like Elton John," Setsuna deadpanned. She took a few seconds to compose   
herself, then finally turned back to the younger girl. "Momoko-chan," she said in a   
lecturing tone, "it's not always that easy. People like Saotome-san… you see them in   
concerts, you see them on TV; you see pictures of their faces on albums in music stores.   
But there's a lot of difference between what you see and reality. It's not like I'm eating   
fine French cuisine by candlelight every night, and he's there to play the piano to help me   
digest the food. You may not want to think about it, but pianists have to eat too, and they   
have to sleep. They use toilets like we do, and sometimes forget to flush." Good thing   
Saotome-san's not like that, Setsuna thought as she paused momentarily and gave silent   
thanks to whatever kami that might be listening.   
  
She continued. "And it's often harder to live with those people, because a lot of times all   
they think about is their art and their music, and everything else they just push to the   
side." Not quite so in Haruka and Michiru's case, a distant thought reminded her; but   
that was part of the reason why she had enjoyed living with them. "It's really not the   
romantic fairy-tale thing that you made it out to be. So," Setsuna wrapped up the topic   
neatly without emotion, looking at her young friend with half-lidded eyes, "can we end   
this discussion now?"  
  
Momoko took on the expression of a junior-high schoolgirl who was just informed that   
her favorite shoujo series was slashed from the air to make room for Pokemon. "I   
guess…" she said, utterly disappointed.  
  
"Good," the green-haired woman stood up and dragged her friend out of her chair by the   
hand. "Let's go, Momoko-chan; I want to check the bulletin board and see what kind of   
work we've got for today."  
  
x x x  
  
Two plastic-looking cups attached through a hose to some sort of an engine trembled and   
danced across the table in front of Setsuna. She was busy reading the attached flyer.   
"Introducing the 'T-Rex'? A Mammoth Innovation of Epic Proportions and Historical   
Importance?" She raised an eyebrow, and turned to the machine.  
  
"No." Setsuna took exactly one look at the pulsating device squirming around on her   
boss's table and flatly refused. "I'm not taking this one."  
  
"But, but, Setsuna-chan!" pleaded her boss, a balding middle-aged man with pudgy,   
stump-like limbs, and a belly that threatened to burst through the extra-large oxford shirt   
he wore whenever he inhaled. "You can be on television! Aren't you always saying that   
you need a big break?"   
  
"By doing a breast pump commercial?" Setsuna knew better than to flare her temper at   
her boss, but she nearly did so this time anyway.  
  
"It's only going to be aired during the AV blocks late at night!"  
  
"That's even worse! I'm not going to be known across Japan as the Midnight Milkmaid   
whose commercials only come on between bad blow-job scenes … and turn that thing   
off, Momoko-chan!" She barked. "It's really distracting."  
  
Momoko picked up the buzzing, semi-transparent device and examined it thoroughly like   
a kid at the science fair. She looked through the thing, squeezed the gel cups, held it to   
her ears and tried to see if it makes wave sounds like seashells. Finally, she placed the   
still-vibrating cups onto her chest. "Hmm… do men really find big breasts attractive? I   
wonder what Kyo-chan would think…" she turned the dial up. "Ooh, this feels nice…"  
  
At last finding a supporter in the cause, Setsuna's boss hurried over to her friend's side.   
"See? I tell you, this is a nifty gadget. There's a suction mode, a massage mode, and an   
undulation mode, plus you can set it on timers too! Momoko-chan, the guys at the   
company say that they'll even send you ten sets of these T-Rex breast sculpture modules   
for free if you'd just do this thirty-second-segment…"  
  
Setsuna held one hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore the two "T-  
Rex" enthusiasts behind her.  
  
"Oh, Senpai!" Momoko called out in wonder. "Look… if you turn the dial up, and put   
the engine in reverse mode, you can even make this into an oxygen mask!" The curly   
brunette demonstrated cheerfully. On the fourth breath, Setsuna turned around in disgust   
and stomped back to her desk. It was all she could do to maintain her calm exterior at   
this point and keep her boiling anger contained. Thinking back to the one culprit and its   
accomplice who toyed with her and helped to foul her day completely, she smiled thinly.   
By the time she got back home, she figured that the simmering rage within her should   
have been cooked to a delectable perfection.  
  
This time, Setsuna thought, it's really an all-you-can-eat. And she'd make him choke   
down every piece.  
.  
.  
7  
November 14, 1997  
5:46 PM   
  
She stormed up the stairs, her high heels clicking furiously on the steps. A nylon string   
dangled out of her left pant pocket; fortunately, she hadn't needed the whistle to deal with   
the killer birds today either. However, just the mere thought of the matter irritated her   
even further, and by the time she reached the third floor and recalled once again the   
atrocities that Saotome had committed against her at that very spot earlier in the morning,   
she was practically shaking with rage. So, he thinks that being scared of cockroaches is   
funny, does he?  
  
Well, she had a full day of stress that she could unload now. Damned cockroach,   
damned birds, damned pervert boss and pervert friend… and damned that Saotome!   
Setsuna paused in front of the door, jamming her fingers into her purse to search for her   
keys.  
  
I'll show him funny, she thought darkly.   
  
x x x  
  
Sitting on the bench, Ranma stared at the ivory and ebony keys laid out before his eyes.   
They stared back at him, cold and unyielding as usual, waiting to be conquered by his   
hands. Emotions, huh?   
  
He fired a key like a warning shot. The hammer fell. The note rang true, and was flung   
skyward like a catapult straight through the open window. Feelings, huh?  
  
With a look of determination in his eyes, he gleefully joined the battle.  
  
x x x  
  
Leaning against the wall next to the door, her keys in one hand, Setsuna had only one   
thought as she listened to the music coming from within:  
  
This is so unfair.  
  
Here she was, ready to come back home and give him an uncompromised and unabridged   
edition of her thoughts on the events that transpired earlier today, and he had to go and   
play that damned piano. Worse, he had to go and play that damned song.   
  
It sounds kind of different this time, she noted; harsher at times, and more soothing at   
others. On the whole, the song seemed dichotomously laden and spontaneous, and   
neither of these were feelings that it evoked in her the first time she heard it. I wonder   
what happened to him today, Setsuna thought, before she shook her head to clear the   
thought away. Too late; she was dismayed to find that somewhere during the song, her   
blazing anger had betrayed her once more and died down into merely a slow burn.   
  
This sucks, Setsuna decided, absently tapping the keys in her hand against the wall as she   
tried to lean further into it.   
  
The song halted midway through. The door opened.  
  
"Meiou-san?" Ranma regarded her in surprise. "I just heard the sound of the keys…   
Why didn't you come in? How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Didn't want to interrupt." Setsuna pushed herself off the wall and drifted inside. "It's a   
beautiful song," she said with a non-committal shrug.  
  
"Thanks." A hand came up to his head, hesitated, then scratched the pigtail anyway.   
Then, perceiving the sour note in her voice, Ranma made the connection that she was still   
likely angry at him with his earlier stunt. He could have taunted like he used to, and twist   
that knife deeper into her wound. Or, he could have ignored it, like he used to, and let   
her simmer. "I'm, uh… I'm sorry about earlier," he said instead. "You had a really bad   
day, huh?"  
  
Setsuna slowly turned to look at him. "You have no idea," she finally said, before   
marching across the room to plop herself down onto her couch.  
  
x x x  
  
"Say, Saotome-san?" Setsuna said, lifting her head from the sofa, but not looking at him   
either. She had her knees drawn high up onto the cushion, arms encircling her legs.   
  
"Yes?" From his bench, Ranma fought a short struggle before he finally declined to   
further investigate whether the kinks at the underside of her plaid pants were in fact panty   
lines. He went back to investigating the keys of his piano instead.  
  
Unaware of the brief attention she just received, Setsuna continued, a little wistfully,   
"Say, have you ever felt on some days that your life is turning into a total waste?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I don't mean it literally." A hand came up from her side, hung in the air for a few   
seconds, then waved anyway. "It's just that today, I just realized I've gotten no further   
than where I was one year ago. I'm still only getting cheesy jobs at work, doing small   
ads and what not, and my boss thinks that doing a commercial for the AV blocks is going   
to be a big break for me. I mean, how low can you get?" Setsuna kicked her legs into the   
air and turned onto her back, pressing her whole weight into the cushions. She examined   
her nails. "On top of that, Yamaguchi's gone too, and I just feel a little… tired, you   
know? Like I've gone around a circle and found myself back at the beginning."  
  
There was a long moment of silence in the room. "Meiou-san," at length, Ranma looked   
up from the piano and called out.  
  
"Hmm?" She stretched.  
  
"Look at it this way," he deliberated as he spoke, "Think of it… think of it as a vacation.   
A really, really long vacation."  
  
Setsuna sat up and mussed her hair a little with one hand. "A… vacation?"   
  
Ranma flipped the lid over the keyboard. "You don't always have to give it your all, or   
try your best at every moment, you know? Everybody has days when they're down and   
tired." He stood up slowly, walked across the small living room, and set himself down   
squarely on the other couch. "It's probably a weird way to think of it," he continued,   
fixing his eyes on her. "But, at times like this, I take it as a sign from some passing kami   
telling me to take a break. That way, I don't have to try as hard or push myself to the   
limit every single moment, you know? I can just… relax for a while."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"And then things will get better." He said confidently.  
  
"…really?" She asked, feeling slightly better now.  
  
"Probably," he laughed a little and amended.  
  
"…Probably?" She rounded on him, slight incredulity in her voice. Probably? That was   
his conclusion of a pep-talk? She snorted, but a trace of a smile made its way onto her   
face anyway. "Say, Saotome-san?"  
  
"Hmm?"   
  
She made as if to say something, but fell silent again. "Oh, don't worry about it," she   
said at last. Ranma raised an eyebrow at that, but decided not to make an issue of it.   
"It's nothing."   
  
"Vacation, huh…" Setsuna murmured to herself, falling back into the couch.   
.  
.  
8  
November 17, 1997  
8:35 AM  
  
Monday came, and Setsuna stepped into the office with unusually high spirits. Not that   
normal people could tell from a glance, but the little spring in her step was immediately   
noticeable to all those who had been working with her long enough. She was on her way   
to her desk, but changed course to make a stop at her boss's office. Perhaps things would   
be better today, like Saotome-san had suggested. Either way, though, she was   
determined to stop worrying and simply go with the flow.  
  
The balding man took note of the smile on her face, and picked up on her mood with a   
surprising acumen that she did not expect. "Setsuna-chan! You're looking marvelously   
happy today."  
  
Instead of nodding as usual, she answered him by making a half twirl, showcasing the   
red, floor-length dress with zip-off sleeves that she had chosen to wear today under her   
favorite white jacket, before striking an alluring pose that looked all the more memorable   
by the effortless and almost casual way she presented it. The eye-candy was a rare and   
delicious treat, and her boss gobbled it up eagerly. "So, what's for work?"  
  
The eagerness in the man's face slowly vanished. "Um, boss?"  
  
"Well, that is," he cleared his throat for a few seconds too long, then finally said in a   
patronizing manner that Setsuna definitely did not like, "Setsuna-chan…" he trailed off   
again.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
The man was looking more and more uncomfortable as he continued. "See, there haven't   
been too many advertisement opportunities lately, and what was left had already been   
assigned to our younger models because the higher-ups wanted to shift the focus of our   
firm to a more exuberant and energetic presentation in order to attract the teenagers   
today…"  
  
Completely disliking what she was hearing now, Setsuna stared at her boss and asked in   
an even tone, "What exactly are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying that your schedule's going to be looking kind of empty for a short while," he   
admitted. Before she could raise her objection, however, he added, "But not to worry,   
Setsuna-chan; you've just demonstrated how much, um, experience you have under your   
belt as a model, so I'm going to pull some strings and place one of our upcoming new   
stars under your direct guidance."  
  
It took all of two seconds for her to digest the information. "You want me to be a   
manager?" Is he serious? "I'm supposed to be a model – no, scratch that, I'm supposed   
to be a fashion designer, damnit! If you can't find work for me, the least you can do is to   
talk with the guys at the production department and get me a place–"  
  
"Wait, wait, Setsuna-chan! Don't be so angry." The man said in a placating manner.   
"You found out what those guys really want the first time you went there. Besides, the   
girl we're trying to promote is a very sweet gal; I'm sure you'll like her a lot. She just   
came from England not too long ago, as a matter of fact, but she speaks Japanese well   
enough that language barrier is not going to cause a problem. Here, let me call her in –   
Minako-chan!"  
  
"Absolutely not," Setsuna said emphatically, finally fed up with the ridiculousness of the   
situation. To think, she was actually looking for good things to happen for a change…   
what a joke. "Listen, if you're not going to find something to fill my schedule, then I'm   
going to submit my resignation letter as of this–" she paused. She was positive she didn't   
just hear that right. Minako-chan?  
  
"Coming!" A syrupy voice announced, and a teenage girl sauntered into the small office,   
humming a random pop tune to herself all the while.  
  
Setsuna paled. Oh, hell, no.  
  
Slightly over five foot with a generally lithe and athletic figure. Check. Long blond hair,   
with a trademark red bow in the center. Check. Disgustingly large and sparkling blue   
eyes that are just a shade paler to Usagi's, check. A smile that was just as disturbingly   
vapid as Usagi's, check. Singing a pop song that was missing notes by a mile, check…   
and mate.   
  
"Hello! My name is Aino Minako!" She bowed politely and said in an all-too-familiar   
saccharine voice. "Nice to meet you. My birthday is October twenty-second, my blood-  
type is B, and I like idols, gyoza, and physical education! My dream is to, erm, become   
an idol myself!" Then, to the side, she added to the man in a whisper, "is that good   
enough?" Behind Setsuna's back, the man nodded furiously in confirmation.  
  
More than good enough, Minako-chan, Setsuna came to the same conclusion   
independently at nearly the same time. She held a hand to her face and sighed. You get a   
cookie for the effort.  
  
Then, to herself, she thought in complete dismay: This is not happening.  
.  
.  
(END CHAPTER)  
.  
.  
Once again, much thanks to Figment for the pre-reading on the chapter.  
.  
- ukie  
.  
p.s. Before you ask, Setsuna's reaction to the cockroach, while extreme, was not wholly   
unjustified. Her Bios read something along the line of "complete dislike / fears:   
cockroaches". I just tweaked it up a bit. :) 


	5. Chapter Four

1  
December 13, 1997  
12:30 PM  
  
Brrrrrrrrrrrrriiinnngg– bop.  
  
There's nothing quite like the pleasure of waking up late on a weekend, thought Setsuna.   
  
There's ample time to play around with the "snooze" button on the alarm clock – an act   
that she found almost addicting by now, and more than enough time to simply snuggle   
into the blankets and pretend that she was still sleeping. An odd image of a polar bear   
floated into her mind as she pulled the sheets over her head once more, and Setsuna   
pictured herself hibernating like the warm, furry animal deep inside a cave where the   
wintry gales and biting frost outside could not reach her.   
  
Unfortunately, however, the dutiful and more responsible part of her mind informed her   
that while this was technically weekend time, it was also still a Saturday. And Saturdays   
meant taking Minako around for photo shoots at three-thirty in the afternoon.  
  
She was not looking forward to the challenge.  
  
Minako, in Setsuna's opinion, was a work in progress at best. If her road to stardom   
could be called a road at all, she supposed that it would have to have been one of those   
tiny dirt paths winding into the Amazonian rainforests that only the aborigines would   
dare to venture. Unfortunately, the budding teenager was clearly not an indigenous South   
American tribe member. She was tripping so often over every little tree branch and rock   
on her way through the metaphorical jungle that it was a torture to watch at times. On   
several occasions, Setsuna found herself waiting on the set or studio ten minutes after the   
shoot had begun, only to find the girl joyfully marching from the entrance with yet   
another autograph on the back of one of her innumerable photo collections of her idols.   
And she would have to endure through the tirade as Minako ecstatically described in   
detail how lucky she was to just accidentally bump into the adolescent heartthrob when   
she took a break to grab some sweets from the vending machine downstairs, or ran into   
the boy and his agent in the parking lot just as they were leaving after a photo session.   
  
An especially memorable example came when once, forty-five minutes past the   
scheduled starting time of the shoot, Setsuna had to leave the studio to track her protégé   
down, finding her in the backstage of a boy-band concert held five blocks away. That   
time, Minako had a photo out in one hand and a bus ticket transfer in the other, and her   
eyes were those of a predatory stalker as she waited in a shadowy corner near the   
entrance, ready to pounce on the boys as soon as they arrived. She had to be dragged   
back into the studio that time, and her screams of outrage could be heard even over the   
amplified speakers as the cheesy love songs played on.  
  
They really should have hired a babysitter instead.  
  
On a more pleasant note, however, Saotome-san had gradually become more open to   
conversation over the past month. Now, more often than not, the two of them would talk   
late into the night about how their days went, even if he still refused to tell her why she   
sometimes found him completely soaked to the bone coming back home when there   
hadn't been a drop of rain outside that day.   
  
To put it simply, the pigtailed young man was growing on her, and she was discovering   
that his music was increasingly pleasant to her ears as well despite her minimal interest in   
music in general, or his claim that he was only practicing and not playing for her in   
particular. In turn, she talked about her problems at work, and he would patiently sit,   
either behind the piano or on the couch next to her own, listening to her complaints until   
she had vented through her frustrations. It was like talking to the Gate back on Pluto, she   
discovered, but much better, because neither the Gate nor the ever-flowing Time Stream   
would appear to be sympathetic to her cause or commiserate with her.  
  
For instance, Setsuna vividly recalled when, a week ago, they had somehow touched on   
the subject of how they had met their respective fiancées at first…   
  
x x x  
  
"–and then, she clonked me over the head with a table," said Ranma with a casual shrug.   
  
"…you're kidding me, right?"  
  
"Naah. I wish. What about you? How did you run into Takuya?"  
  
She thought for a moment with her head back over the cushion of the sofa, before   
straightening herself, tucking her legs and crossing them underneath her, sitting up in   
semi-Indian style. "Well, it's nothing quite as extreme as your first meeting," she started.   
"In fact, it was really lame."  
  
"Really lame?" He echoed.  
  
"Yeah," she continued, the memory coming to her even as she spoke, "I was moping   
around inside a café after finishing up another crap-assignment, and all of a sudden this   
guy in a tux just walked up to me, looked at me with those blue eyes like yours, and said,   
"Hey, you look kinda familiar. Do I know you?" And I rolled my eyes like this and   
thought, boy, is he for real? That's the lamest pick-up line I've ever heard in my life."  
  
"That was pretty dorky," he agreed with a laugh.  
  
"Wasn't it? But somehow I kept running into him everywhere; for a while I thought he   
was stalking me or something. And, before I knew what happened, we just started going   
out."  
  
He thought about that for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, I can see how he could say   
something like that. It sounded pretty much like him." Then, with a gleam in his eyes,   
he asked, "Did I ever tell you how I met Takuya?"  
  
"No, how?"  
  
"See," he reminisced, "I had just left Nerima that day and was feeling kinda down, and   
somehow I'd walked all the way to Juuban without really knowing or caring where I was   
heading. And I was walking down this big street when all of a sudden I heard this loud   
horn blaring like there was no tomorrow. I looked up and saw him standing in the middle   
of the intersection like a road-kill, and then I saw that an SUV was going to run him over   
in the next two seconds if he didn't move – which he didn't look like he was going to –   
so I tackled his ass and brought him over to the divider." He laughed again at the thought   
of that. "I was like, geez, what the hell was this dork thinking, standing around like that?   
Then he told me he was going to treat me to dinner for rescuing him, and since it was free   
food I didn't turn it down." He paused briefly and shrugged even as she laughed.   
  
"We talked a little over dinner, and it turned out that he was new to the town himself and   
was looking for an apartment, and he was kind of lost and didn't know where to go when   
he stopped at the intersection. He asked me if I knew of any places that were for rent,   
and when I said that I didn't know, and that I didn't have a place to stay either, he just   
told me that I could stay with him when he got a place to settle down. Actually," he   
amended a little later, "Takuya was really insistent on that, and I was like, whatever,   
since I really couldn't care either way at the time…"  
  
"…And then?" She turned to face him expectantly after seeing that he had trailed off   
once more.  
  
"…and then he ended up renting this apartment that day, and I moved into the other   
room. It was pretty easy for me, since all I had at the time was my backpack," he   
finished.  
  
She smiled wanly. "Takuya was always a nice guy. A little rough around the edges, but   
still a nice guy nonetheless."  
  
He shrugged again. "I guess. He did get me into playing the piano though."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yeah. Said he used to be a musician, and he saw I had some pretty quick hands when I   
got him out of that jam. So he suggested that since I wasn't doing anything at the time, I   
might as well try to play the piano, and that it was a good art. And I did; it was a hobby   
at first, but I didn't really expect how easy it was for me to memorize the pieces that I   
came across. Pretty soon I got to the point where I got really into it and started playing   
everyday, and when I went to a music store one day to look for some books on classical   
music I played a little tune on one of their baby-grands just for fun, and a professor from   
Gedai who was there at the time flagged me down after I finished and asked me to   
consider applying to the school. So that's how I got in." He stopped and turned to stare   
at her with a curious expression on his face. "Say, Meiou-san?"  
  
"Hmm?" Sometime during his tale, she had gone back to reclining against the couch, her   
hands folded under the side of her cheek as she leaned her head against one of the   
armrests.  
  
"Do you miss him?"  
  
"…Yes," she said honestly. "I miss him a lot."  
  
"Do you… hate him?"  
  
She sat up at that, and thought hard for a response. "Yes. No. I don't know," she said   
finally. "It's hard to love someone for a year and want to rip his guts out all of a sudden;   
not when you start to remember all the good memories you had with that person. Like   
now."  
  
He nodded, but didn't say anything further after that.  
  
x x x  
  
And it was true, Setsuna found in retrospect. Sometime during that night, she found that   
she no longer had the same burning hatred for Takuya that she did before. It wasn't quite   
enough for her to forgive him, but she didn't feel like she had to shy away from thinking   
about him for fear that she would be consumed with rage. And with each mention of   
Takuya's name, and each peal of laughter she shared with Saotome-san, Setsuna felt the   
pain she associated with her old fiancée becoming more and more distant. In time, she   
thought, it may even fade away like all other memories she had and become nothing   
except a haze of –  
  
Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.  
  
Oh well, her reveries interrupted by the ringing of the alarm clock, Setsuna sighed under   
the blankets and snuck a hand up to pull them to the sides, it's about time to get up   
anyway.  
.  
.  
2  
December 13, 1997  
1:18 PM  
  
It was almost the same routine.  
  
Open door. Put the jingling keys back into pocket. Close door. Step out of the shoes,   
bend down, and place the shoes in the corner by the foyer. And walk into the room.  
  
Oops.  
  
Almost forgot the hop.   
  
He paused, one foot hanging four inches above the ground, and adjusted his stride,   
cleanly avoiding the spot where his foot was going to land. It'd been almost a month   
now, but he still had to remind himself that Setsuna had placed a sticky board for   
cockroaches near the entrance. Not to mention the two she put in the kitchen, next to the   
sink, or the one against the bit of wall between the kitchen and his bedroom door. Or the   
four behind the couch in the living room. Or the two behind the toilet in the bathroom.   
The woman had turned the apartment into a virtual deathtrap for cockroaches ever since   
the day she found one on her bed, and he nearly fell onto the floor laughing at the sight of   
the ring of traps she had made around her room. According to the manuals he read, the   
amount of sticky boards she had placed in the apartment could have easily taken care of   
an outbreak in an area the size of an airplane hanger. The thing is, whenever he tried to   
ask her where exactly on the bed the thing had been when she woke up, she would just   
clam up immediately and walk away.   
  
Ranma shrugged helplessly. Never could understand girls.  
  
He had just made his way past the piano when the bathroom door on his left opened. A   
wave of steam wafted out into the living room, and Setsuna walked out with a damp   
towel wrapped around her hair, wearing nothing except a white, oversized T-shirt with a   
picture of the Powerpuff Girls on it.   
  
"Good morning," she said, not looking up, her bare feet making wet prints on the floor as   
she fell into the sofa with a sigh. Ranma returned the greeting distractedly and sat down   
on his couch, starting to sort the mail he just got from downstairs.  
  
"Anything new?" She asked, holding the white towel with a hand and draping the back   
cushion with the other. "Ooh, news." She leaned forward and snatched the papers right   
out of his hands just as he was about to read them. Pausing, he turned to gaze at her with   
a bit of irritation, then decided to just drop the matter and went back to browsing the rest   
of the mail. He'd gotten used of this kind of stuff by now anyway.  
  
"Hmm… what's this?" Setsuna's voice drifted off into the background as he went   
through each piece of mail from the small stack in his lap, starting with the electricity   
bill. "…Mysterious sickness strikes again… doctors were once more unable to discern   
the reason for the four new victims who fell into a coma yesterday and taken to the   
Nisseki Medical Center…" Next was a donation request from some charity organization.   
He made a sour face. "…And a tragedy occurred late in the evening last night, as a   
young woman was run over by an 18-wheeler while she was picking up spare change in   
the middle of a road outside the Roppongi station…" Next was the water bill.   
"…woman was identified as Takako Ryoko, a twenty-one-year-old tour guide working   
for the…" His fingers rested on a postcard that seemed out of place. He picked it up and   
flipped the card over to see where it came from, then immediately stuffed the card   
underneath the other letters and stood up from the sofa.  
  
Setsuna took note of his sudden movement and stopped reading. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Um," he faltered, "I, uh, I'm just going back to my room, why?"  
  
She eyed him suspiciously. "What's that in your hand then?"   
  
He hid the hand holding the stack of mail behind his back, and headed for his room   
without bothering to reply.  
  
"Wait, give me that!" She threw the papers aside and rose up to intercept him; the towel   
fell by the wayside and damp green hair tumbled down her back as she lunged. She   
managed to catch an arm just before he could open the bedroom door. "It's from   
Yamaguchi, isn't it?" Her eyes bore into his in accusation.  
  
"No, it's just the bills."  
  
"I don't believe you!"   
  
He turned his back to her and tried to get to the door, but Setsuna tackled him from   
behind and reached around his waist with her right hand to take the mail. Ranma   
struggled even more when he realized that something soft and supple was mashing into   
his back, making his skin quiver and his face flush. At last, her fingers caught a piece of   
the postcard at the bottom of the stack, and realizing that this must be what he was trying   
to hide, she pulled on it with all her might.   
  
The postcard tore into two pieces, and she stumbled away from him due to the   
momentum of her force, nearly falling onto the ground. She glared at Ranma for a   
second, then trained her eyes on the part of the card in her hands.  
  
It wasn't the gold rims framing the card that she cared about. It wasn't the tiny pink   
hearts glued all over the card that she cared about either, or that the post stamp on the   
corner told her the card came from America. What she cared about was what was written   
on it:  
  
"From… Takuya and Tri–" she read to herself and broke off when the last part was   
missing, then continued on to the next line. "…Great News!" And the line after that.   
"…We're getting m–" That was as much as she find, but her mind had figured out the   
rest of the message.  
  
He eyed her with a sinking feeling in his stomach, already knowing the content by heart.   
"M…?"  
  
Setsuna gawked at the text for a long time. "M…Ma…Ma…Married?" She shrieked   
suddenly, the hand holding the card trembling as her grip on it tightened, draining the   
color from her knuckles until they turned as pale as her face.   
  
Ranma bit on his lower lip and turned away.  
  
"Married…" she breathed, unwanted tears welling in her eyes.  
  
Unable to bear the note of desolation in her voice, Ranma thought fast and hard and tried   
to remember what little he could from old English lessons with Hinako-sensei, berating   
himself all the while for falling asleep in her class every time. Finally, he found an   
alternative. "Um," he swallowed a little more, then told the lie. "It… it could be   
'murdered', you know?" He suggested.  
  
Tears and message nearly forgotten for an instant, Setsuna looked up at him in surprise.   
Then her anger exploded.  
  
"Who the hell would send a postcard telling people that they're getting MURDERED?"   
She screamed as she marched towards him, hands held at her sides and balling into small   
fists. "And with little pink hearts glued onto the background no less!" Then, locking   
onto the other piece of the card still in his hand and realizing that she could settle the   
matter with it instantly, Setsuna made a dive for it again.   
  
"Gimme that!" She yelled in frenzy, grabbing onto the hand holding the bit of postcard.   
Then, before she could bring both her hands around again to wrestle the shred away from   
his fingers, he crumpled the thing in his palm, opened his mouth, and promptly   
swallowed the ball of paper. Lips parting silently, she stared at him in shock, a finger   
waving and pointing at him in the air.  
  
Then, suddenly, her legs gave out on her, and like a puppet with its strings cut, she fell to   
the ground in a boneless heap. "No…" she whispered, then looked up hatefully when   
Ranma squeezed past her and walked into the kitchen.  
  
"What are you doing?" asked Setsuna, disheartened, devastated, still a tiny bit curious.  
  
He came back out with a glass of water in his hand and took a swill. "I've had to eat a lot   
of bad cooking in my life," he said, swallowing, "but I've never had paper. I'm just   
trying to chug it down with water." He upended the glass, and his expression turned   
thoughtful. "Hmm," he informed her at last, "not bad. Tastes like chocolate."  
.  
.  
.  
.  
TIMED VACATION  
.  
.  
Chapter Four  
.  
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)  
Composed by: CAGNET  
.  
.  
3  
December 13, 1997  
3:37 PM  
  
In front of her, there were lights.   
  
Between the lights, towards the center, there was the camera. Shutters were pressed,   
pressed, and pressed some more. The photographer coaxed, coerced, grimaced, smiled,   
pulled out a few strands of flaky hair and nearly kicked away the tripod holding the   
camera, then finally went back to coaxing the subject inside the view of the camera lens   
once again.  
  
In front of her, to the distant, there was the backdrop: a picture of a western-styled   
redbrick house with a fat, snow-tipped chimney and a sloped roof that was equally laden   
in fluffy white against the black canvas that was the night.  
  
In front of the backdrop, a young girl posed in a Santa-getup in which the only thing that   
kept to the original was the red hat and the large white bag over the shoulder. The rest of   
the outfit, from the extra-tight, traffic-stopping red leather corset with its front lace   
ending just above a bare navel, to the matching low-rise, high-cut leather shorts with   
white-rimmed edges and just a hint of lace shown behind the top of the front zip-line, and   
all the way down to the red cowboy boots with six-inch lace-up shafts and padded collars,   
would have Santa wheeled into a hospital for frostbites and hypothermia within ten   
minutes had he been able to wear it to work.   
  
In front of her, bathed in the lights, there was Minako: light-blue-eyed, long-blond-  
haired, doing photos for a cell-phone advertisement in a costume just a tad less revealing   
than those on the cover of a special Christmas edition of Playboy.  
  
Normally, in cases like this, Setsuna would have been jumping up and down, waving her   
arms about frantically, smacking a palm into her forehead, or doing anything to clue her   
protégé on the set to fix that smile of hers that was making her look like she just went   
through root canal. Or Setsuna would have been performing the various poses on the   
sidelines to match the those that Minako had been asked to posture – winking, strutting,   
jutting her hips, or blowing a kiss to an imaginary recipient – to show the young girl how   
modeling was not the same as imitating a dilapidated tree. She would have even bothered   
to think up some sharp comments to reflect how today, unlike most days, Minako was   
displaying all the hyperactive energy of a sloth trying to take a dump after accidentally   
eating some hard and knobby twigs.  
  
Then, after the painful session was over, she would have chided the girl about the various   
small cuts and bruises on her limbs that the makeup artists had to dress over, and Minako   
would probably have shot back about how she could take care of herself perfectly fine,   
and that it was healthy for a teenage girl to be as involved in sports as she was. In the   
end, Setsuna would have come back to the office, marched straight to her boss's office to   
complain about how the company was exploiting children by agreeing to let Minako wear   
the flimsy outfit she had on, and her boss would have just shrugged with a look on his   
face that said, "What do you expect?"  
  
Instead, all Setsuna did was sit in her chair, a fair distance to the side and behind the   
photographer, watching Minako flounder around and nearly drop the cell-phone in her   
hand several times – and looking straight past her.  
  
A photo session, even one with Minako in it, could go by amazingly fast when you're   
still in shock.  
.  
.  
4  
December 13, 1997  
3:37 PM  
  
"Saotome-san!" A voice called out to him as he walked out of the building. He turned.  
  
"Oh, Sensei." He looked at the man who was holding the glass door open. Same old   
dusty English suit, same old brown tie hanging down the pressed oxford shirt, and same   
old dark eyes that shone a kind light from behind the glasses. "Staying late again today?"  
  
The man shook his head as he let the arm drop and the door close behind him. "Actually,   
packing and cleaning up my office before the winter break hits is more like it. I just saw   
you leaving when I was taking some empty boxes out of the room." He laughed with a   
bit of embarrassment. Then, in a more delicate tone, "Did you figure out what I meant by   
expressing your feelings through songs yet?"  
  
Ranma thought hard. "Just a little," he said at last. "I've tried a lot lately, but I still can't   
see the difference. Is it really that noticeable?"  
  
The professor looked down at the ground, a thumb rubbing against the fingers on one   
hand. "Think of it like an invisible wall," he looked up after a minute and said. "You   
can't touch it, and you can't break it down with your fists because it's not really there.   
But when you play a song without any emotions, the audience feels like you've erected a   
wall between you and them, and they can't get the full experience of the songs that way."   
Pausing again, he sighed, adjusting the glasses a little. "I'm not sure if I'm explaining it   
correctly, or if I'm just confusing you even more."  
  
"No, it's all right, Sensei," Ranma replied haltingly, chewing his lips, "I think… I think   
I'll think about this some more."   
  
The older man nodded. "Keep at it." He looked at his watch. "Well, I better head back   
to clean up then. Break through that wall, Saotome-san!" Then he turned around and   
headed back to the door.  
  
Ranma stayed and watched as the professor went inside the building once more. Then,   
suddenly, he remembered something he had wanted to ask the man for a while now.   
"Um, sensei?"  
  
The man halted and looked over his shoulder. "Yes, Saotome-san?"  
  
"When did you start wearing glasses anyway?"  
  
Startled, the professor took a moment before replying. "Oh, this?" He grinned. "Why   
do you ask?"  
  
"Um… my old roommate used to have a pair just like those," Ranma said, pointing.  
  
"Ah. I doubt it," the older man chortled, taking the pair of thin glasses off his face and   
holding them out in front of him to give his student a better look. "This pair's fake," he   
continued. "There's really no power behind the lenses. My girlfriend just thought I'd   
look cool with glasses, so I bought myself a pair the other day." Then, still laughing, he   
turned and walked away.  
  
x x x  
  
On the sidewalk, a few blocks away from the campus, Ranma stopped in front of an   
intersection, waiting for the light to turn green. While he waited, the conversation he had   
with his sensei earlier returned to the surface of his mind. He had to hand it to the man,   
though; not many people could make him do a double-take like that outside Nerima.   
  
He thought back to the earlier parts of their talk, and stayed on the side of the road even   
as the light turned. Heedless of the few passers-by walking past him, he closed his eyes   
and focused. An invisible wall, his sensei's voice seemed to drift into his ears and   
reminded him. Break through that wall.  
  
Faster than lightning, Ranma let loose a punch. Straight, precise, deadly.  
  
It did not connect.  
  
He let his eyes open slowly and lowered the fist, before bringing it up again to examine   
the clenched fingers. They held the same power as before. Whatever, he decided finally,   
still looking at his hand, just when someone called his name from across the street.   
  
"R…Ranma?"   
  
That voice. He'd recognize it anywhere. He looked up instantly.  
  
Eyes wide, lips open, bangs parting in the breeze, standing not thirty-feet away: Akane.   
  
Her hair's longer now, he realized, right as she spun and took off in the opposite   
direction.  
.  
.  
5  
December 13, 1997  
4:02 PM  
  
There's a whole lot of nothing you can say to someone you haven't seen for more than a   
year, Ranma discovered.  
  
The coffee shop was of a modest size, mostly consisting of a lengthy bar-like counter   
inside, and a single row of four-seat booths lining along a file of glass windows. The   
décor was simple and clean, but not overly cheap, as the pinewood flooring and walls   
could attest to.  
  
When the two of them had arrived a few minutes ago, the shop was nearly full with the   
afternoon rush – mostly company employees just finished with work, or students wishing   
for a snack before heading to cram schools. He had followed Akane all the way to the   
corner, and took his seat only after she had taken hers.   
  
Ranma could detect the faint aroma of coffee lingering in the air like an aftertaste, joined   
by the scent of tea, hot cream, and freshly-baked pastries. Out of the corner of his eyes   
he witnessed a couple in the booth to his left busily sharing a glass of lemonade with two   
straws. He could tell, from noise and smell, that the person sitting at his back was letting   
his espresso cool and reading newspapers. Two booths over and behind, he learned from   
a group of gossipy teenage girls that some wimpy guy called Yoshikawa from class three-  
four went to a summer-festival at night with some girl named Uehara. There was a lot of   
giggling and table-slapping as the information was dispensed, discredited, and debated.   
And, throughout all this, he could not find a word to say to the girl sitting three feet away,   
opposite to him, with her back to the wall.   
  
By now, the couple to his left had abandoned the pretense of the shared drink, and, with   
their eyes closed, inched their heads forward and prodded on towards the center of the   
table where an intangible dividing line lay. They seemed to cross that divider in the air at   
the same time, connected, and tasted the sweet lemon on each other's lips. In contrast,   
Ranma shifted backward into his seat, and Akane did the same, their heads down. It was   
like an interrogation scene at a police station, except that on both sides of the table sat the   
suspects, and the cop was missing.  
  
Akane put the time they spent not conversing to good use by studying her cup of coffee.   
She examined first the ear of the cup, then the etchings on the sides, then the plate   
underneath the cup, and finally found the spiraling cream in the coffee fascinating and   
chose to make it a thesis.  
  
In the meantime, Ranma noted the color of the beverage in his glass gradually taking on a   
lighter tinge, and saw the straw with the chew-marks on the end. He wiped off some of   
the condensation on the glass with a wet hand, looking like someone who just found out   
that this was not his cup of tea, in more ways than one.  
  
He did, however, utter the first word since their arrival just before the ice-cubes in his   
drink had completely melted. "Um…"  
  
"Yes?" Akane interjected at once, looking up from her cup.  
  
"How's everyone doing?" He brought his head up as well, just to catch her stiffen   
slightly and avert her gaze to the side.  
  
"They're fine." She said tersely. "Kasumi's still in the house, Nabiki's still at college   
studying finance – but you knew that already. I'm not sure about your folks because,   
well, Dad wasn't happy after you just up and left that night, so…" she fidgeted and   
trailed off, but he got the idea anyway.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"…I'm attending Keio. Probably going into sports management or something along the   
line."  
  
"Ah." He nodded, and took a deep breath. "Listen, Akane, about that day –" he began.  
  
"It's not your fault." she cut in again just as fast as before. "You did the right thing.   
Listen," she said, rising from her seat, "I've gotta run, Ranma. I was going to meet up   
with a friend, and I'm late already." She picked up her backpack from the empty seat   
next to her and hooked the straps over her shoulders. "Thanks for the coffee."  
  
"Wait!" He grabbed her by the wrist and held her back. She looked back at him,   
shoulder-length brown hair spilling as her head turned. He took time to note that she had   
light makeup on her face, and stood a little taller than he remembered. The yellow and   
green sweater under her coat was something he'd never seen her wear either. "You look   
different," he said softly, searching to make contact with her eyes. He failed.  
  
"…I've changed," Akane said with a smile that could be called uplifting only if she was   
suffering from clinical depression. Then she did a quick inspection of him in return.   
"You still look the same."  
  
"I know." Rising as well, and still not releasing her wrist, Ranma swallowed hard, and   
forced the words out of his mouth with a ferocity that surprised even himself. "Can I –"   
he started, then switched the question and his tone. "Can we talk again?"  
  
"I –" Akane started to shake her head, but took note of the hand still attached to her wrist.   
She struggled for a moment, sighed, and at last gave the barest hint of a nod. "Not at the   
dojo though," she stated firmly.  
  
"Here?" He offered, and she nodded again after a bit. "Next… Saturday night?"   
Another slight nod. "Eight-o'clock, then," he said swiftly. She did not refuse.  
  
Ranma let go of her hand, and watched her almost flee out of the store. He found it   
ironic that asking her out would be so much easier only after he had left her, and would   
have laughed at himself if he didn't find the taste of irony insipid, just like the watered-  
down ice tea still left mostly untouched in his glass.  
.  
.  
6  
December 13, 1997  
6:18 PM  
  
"I'm home," Ranma called out customarily as he stepped through the doorway. The light   
was on in the living room, but there was no answer. He looked down, started to count,   
and then realized that he really couldn't tell whether Setsuna was home yet by the   
number of shoes on the floor.   
  
He walked into the living room. Sure enough, there was Setsuna sitting primly on her   
couch, hands on her knees, looking straight ahead at some fixed spot on her bedroom   
door.   
  
Ranma sat down on the left end of his sofa, and scooted forward. He waved a hand in   
front of her face. "Hello?"  
  
Setsuna blinked. "Oh, you're back," she said, not really paying him attention.  
  
He snorted. "You noticed," he said. Then, after a pause, he added, more calmly, "I saw   
Akane today."  
  
It only took five seconds for Setsuna to respond this time. Brought out of her trance, she   
turned to him, hesitating as she asked. "You mean… your old fiancée?" Seeing a tired   
nod, she continued inquisitively. "What happened?"  
  
"Nothing," he said, holding a hand to his forehead and running it up through his hair.   
"We barely talked at all. It was as awkward as you can get." He sighed. "I don't know   
what came over me in the end though, asking her to meet me like that… but, I guess,   
we're going to see each other again next weekend."  
  
Setsuna nodded. "Do you… miss her?" She asked slowly.  
  
Are you kidding? That kawaikune tomboy… "I guess," he said honestly, after realizing   
that there was no point to lie. "Yes."   
  
Setsuna nodded again, a finger to her lips. This conversation was too much like déjà vu,   
she decided, but went ahead with the question anyway. "Do you… love her?" She asked   
again, even more carefully this time, as if she was trying to wade through a minefield   
without a detector.  
  
Ranma's whole body went rigid. "I –" he began, but fell silent again. He looked down at   
the ground. "…Yes. No. I don't know anymore," he confessed. "I just locked up when   
I saw her, and I don't even know what I'm going to say to her when I see her next week,"   
he said agitatedly, but calmed when he felt a slender hand on his shoulder.   
  
Fingers drumming on his collarbone, Setsuna closed her eyes for a moment. When she   
opened them again, however, they showed a strange determination.   
  
She withdrew her hand and waved it in front of his face, telling him to move over. He   
obliged, and found Setsuna plopping herself down to the spot where he had just occupied.   
Instinctively, Ranma tried to move away to put a more comfortable distance between   
them, but Setsuna was having none of that, and grabbed him by both of his arms before   
he could escape.   
  
"Wh – what are you doing?" He asked, quite alarmed now. To his surprise, she smiled –   
a first for the whole day, and it lit up the room. "Showing you what you need to do to   
your fiancée, Saotome-san," she replied in a rich, sensuous voice that nearly made his   
pigtail stand on its end.   
  
"Watch carefully," she said, still holding him at arm's length. "Big sister Setsuna is only   
going to demonstrate this one time. I'm going to pretend that I'm you, and that you're   
Akane, okay?" She eyed him carefully, making sure that she had his undivided attention.   
  
Ranma goggled at her instead. "Big… big sister Setsuna?"   
  
"Just nod your head and say 'okay'," Setsuna commanded.  
  
Ranma nodded. "Okay," he said.  
  
Then, before he knew what happened, he found himself looking at her dark green tresses,   
his chest pressed against her bosom as her arms circled around him, hugging him for all   
she was worth. "Don't leave me," Setsuna whispered into his ear, clutching at him with   
the desperation of someone drowning, and sent a flush all the way from his earlobes   
down to his neck. Ranma gulped, and decided to focus his senses elsewhere… like the   
strange fragrance in the crook of her neck and in her hair.   
  
And, just as suddenly, Setsuna released him from the embrace, pushing him back to an   
arm's length away. Ranma hoped that it was purely his imagination when her smile   
widened as she saw his flaming-red face. "You got that?" She asked.  
  
"Um, yeah, I, I got it, I think."  
  
"Good," she said, sounding like a school teacher praising a student for being not   
completely brain-dead. "Now, you practice it on me."  
  
Ranma pointed a finger at himself, then drew a straight line across and pointed at her.   
"I'm practicing on… you?"  
  
"Yeah," Setsuna nodded matter-of-factly. "You just be yourself this time, and pretend   
that I'm Akane. Let's go." She sat up and prepared herself.  
  
To his shock, Ranma saw that she was really taking this whole thing seriously as he   
looked into her red eyes. Finally, he mustered up his courage, and held his breath as if he   
were going for a dive. "It's just pretend," he said self-assuredly. Then he moved.  
  
"Don't leave me," he said, gathering her in his arms, holding her with the fervor he used   
on a reversal-jewel controlled Shampoo, and with the reverence he had for the cask of   
Nannichuan water lost to Happosai during the failed wedding. If Ranma had his eyes   
open at the time, he would have seen a stunned Setsuna with her eyes fluttering open for   
a moment before gently closing them again. He did, however, feel her going limp briefly   
in his arms, before she snaked her arms out of the hug, circled them to his back and laid   
her hands against his shoulder-blades.   
  
She feels so incredibly soft, Ranma thought, then tried to drive the thought away   
immediately. And she's really beautiful. Like a burst dam, other parts of his mind   
started to add even more details to his opinion of Setsuna. And kind. When she's not   
pissed off, that is.  
  
Ranma knew he was losing the battle when he started to remember about the time he   
accidentally saw more thigh than he needed way back when he first met her. Just as   
undesirable was the memory of their second meeting, when his eyes lingered just a   
moment too long on her shapely derriere, but that came back to him as well. And the   
smell of her too; kami, it reminded him of –  
  
"Um, Meiou-san?" Unable to stop himself, Ranma asked, his head still on her shoulder.   
  
"Mmm?" She murmured lazily.   
  
"Um, I dunno how to say this…" Ranma said hesitantly, dislodging himself until they   
could see eye-to-eye… and this time he stopped completely, the words he was going to   
say fell soundlessly past his lips.   
  
Long, mesmerizing eyelashes framed twin orbs of red. He had seen them a long time   
ago, he suddenly recalled, while he was still on the road with Pops. Deep in the heart of   
China, surrounded by a set of precipitous ridges, a lake at night: against the satin sky, a   
pale moon gleamed back at its double in the middle of the pool; except that there were   
red petals in the water, under a sheet of gossamer mist, and the petals, somehow,   
converged into the center and stained the fake moon a mysterious crimson, making it   
outdo the splendor of the original by far. He had stood near the banks for hours that night   
thinking that he'd never see something like that again for the rest his life.   
  
He was wrong.  
  
This time, in her eyes, he had to contend with two of those moons. The mist parted for   
him, and suddenly, it was just the red moons and he, peering at one another with naked   
honesty, the slight ripples in the limpid ponds inviting him to come just a tiny bit closer.   
He could see himself in those crimson moons, he discovered in wonder. He wanted to   
come closer, to see even better, to reach into those moons and –  
  
Not used to such close scrutiny, Setsuna turned her gaze away reflexively and broke the   
spell. "S- Saotome-san," she stammered, a small blush creeping into her cheeks, "What   
were you going to say?"  
  
Ranma blinked. "Um, heh, right…" he responded just as eloquently. Then, taking a   
quick sniff of the air, he remembered. "Oh, that's right, I was wondering…" he peered at   
her once more, but tried to stay clear of meeting those red eyes again. "Meiou-san," he   
started, his pigtail itching to be scratched again like a bad habit, "I know you hate   
cockroaches and all, but…"   
  
"But…?" Setsuna echoed, not understanding where he was going at all.  
  
"But," he continued, taking another whiff of her, and looking more embarrassed for her   
than for himself, "even so, do you have to sprinkle insecticide all over yourself?"  
  
Whatever romantic mood Setsuna had been in leapt from the top of a skyscraper and   
plunged toward the ground and a gory death.   
.  
.  
7  
December 15, 1997  
9:14 AM  
  
"…so he thought the 'Desire' you were wearing was bug-spray? Wahahahaha!"   
Momoko burst into laughter, holding her stomach with a hand and nearly falling off her   
chair. "How the hell could anyone be so dense?" Then, seeing the poker face Setsuna   
had carefully set up to conceal the look of annoyance in her eyes, she sat up again,   
managing to tone down her voice. "But, you're right though, Senpai. I guess people like   
Saotome-san really are disconnected from the rest of the society, just like you said, if he   
couldn't tell perfume from pesticide."  
  
"Tell me about it," the green-haired woman muttered, looking away, her chin propped up   
by an arm planted on her desk. "But, he was a nice guy though, Momoko-chan," Setsuna   
amended grudgingly. "He got me out of my mood when I read that postcard."  
  
The brown-haired girl pushed a stray lock back from her forehead and paused. Then,   
gauging her friend's expression carefully, she wet her lips. "Say, Senpai…"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Have you, like, actually thought about getting together with Saotome-san?"  
  
Setsuna whipped her head back so fast that it nearly hurt. "What are you talking about?"   
She asked, stunned.  
  
"I mean, you just defended him, and he really sounds like a pretty nice guy… and kind of   
clueless too, and wasn't that what you liked about Yamaguchi-san anyway?"  
  
Setsuna's lips parted, then she quickly swallowed what she was going to say. She tilted   
her head to one side, contemplating. "You must be kidding me," she said finally, looking   
at the younger girl with an askew glance. "I'm not falling for Mr. Raid."  
.  
.  
8  
December 15, 1997  
7:29 PM  
  
"I'm home!" Ranma called out customarily as he stepped through the doorway. This   
time, Setsuna responded as usual. "Oh, welcome back," she said from her habitual spot   
on her sofa. He took off his shoes and headed towards her.  
  
"Want one?" She said, wearing a familiar red silk blouse under a white jacket and a pair   
of tight jeans, holding up a bottle in one hand. Ranma took a look at it and shook his   
head.  
  
"I don't drink, Meiou-san," he said. "What's the occasion anyway? This looks   
expensive."  
  
"It is," she said, waving a hand. "But I've got more where that came from." She pointed   
to the ten crates by the bathroom that Ranma had almost forgotten had stuff in them, as   
they had been left there untouched ever since she moved in. "Those were all vintage   
champagne and Bordeaux bottles that my relatives brought for me to celebrate the   
wedding. Now that Takuya's remarried, I'll just finish all of these without him." She   
looked down to the ground for a second, as if examining her legs. Then she turned to him   
instantly, wearing a sweet smile on her face. "Saotome-san, are you sure you're not   
going to have some?" She asked even as she downed another glass. He declined.  
  
Setsuna pouted slightly, a hint of red showing on her cheeks. "Ooh, you're no fun. But,   
here," she said, grabbing another bottle from behind her back, "at least open this for me,   
please?" Unable to refuse a simple request like that, Ranma took the bottle from her   
hand and uncorked it, when a jet of bubbling champagne caught him square in the face.  
  
"Got you! Ahahahaha–" Setsuna laughed, falling back into the couch as she kicked her   
legs up and threw her head back against the cushion. Her laughter, however, was short-  
lived when she saw a wet Ranma-chan stare back at her in a dumbfounded manner. "I…   
I can explain this, Meiou-san," she said, holding her palms out in front of her in a   
placating gesture, "really, I can."  
  
Setsuna, however, was not open to explanations. She kicked her couch back and dived to   
the side until her back was to the piano. "Y-youma!" She accused. Then, before   
Ranma-chan's eyes, the green-haired woman stood up triumphantly and shouted.  
  
"Pluto Planet Power, Make-Up!" A flurry of poses ensued for nearly half a minute as   
Ranma-chan watched on agog. When it all ended, however, Setsuna paused in a stance   
that she always secretly thought was a bit grandstanding, before exploding into action.   
She was about to start her attack when she saw the redhead holding her stomach and   
rolling on the floor laughing. She halted.  
  
Strange, she wasn't supposed to do that, Setsuna thought, looking down at herself to see   
what could possibly garner such mirth from the daemon girl. She froze instantly as she   
figured out what went wrong.  
  
Slowly, an inch at a time, she turned her head to the side and looked up at her hand. Oh,   
that's why, a little part of her mind voiced out.  
  
Setsuna dropped the champagne bottle in her hand that she'd been waving around like a   
henshin pen. "Oops," she said sheepishly at the redhead, and started to scratch the back   
of her head with a hand.   
.  
.  
9  
December 15, 1997  
10:49 PM  
  
"…so, you turn into a girl with, um, cold water?" Setsuna asked slowly in a raised voice,   
her back slumped partially against his as she sat on the couch at an outward angle. "And   
you've fought a… dragon and, hmm, a demigod? And traveled through time with a – uh,   
mirror?" She could feel him lethargically tilt his head in a slow, exaggerated nod.  
  
"Ain't no demigod," said Ranma, stopping for a hiccup. "'Scuse me. Anyway, he's just   
a stupid overgrown bird. Cologne – remember the old ghoul I told you?" He rambled   
on, lolling his head a little, "See, she – she said that the Amazons used to, uh, set up   
ambushes during winter, after they found out that a lot of them phoenix liked to migrate   
south with the ducks when the mountaintop got cold."   
  
Setsuna barked a laugh.  
  
"…and anyway, you said you, like, um, used to be one of them re-reincarnated magical   
girls?" Ranma countered. She nodded back. "On a s-sentai team that, eh, battled evil   
from, like, beyond the universe?" he asked sluggishly, trying to keep his head up so it   
wouldn't fall onto her shoulder. Another nod. "In mini-skirts and training bras?" The   
last was conveyed with a raised eyebrow that took some effort to maintain in place.  
  
"The bras were only for Hotaru-chan and Small Lady," Setsuna clarified in a surprisingly   
lucid tone, taking the time to pronounce the words clearly. "We had to buy one for, um,   
Hotaru-chan, and Small Lady was using hand-me-downs from her mom."  
  
The two fell silent again, and turned to face each other after a moment. They laughed as   
one.  
  
It was probably best left unmentioned that around them there were already more than   
three crates worth of empty wine bottles at this point.  
  
Setsuna was the first to recover from their drunken laughter. "So that's why you   
sometimes come home all drenched," she said, eyeing him with an enlightened look on   
her face, her mind skipping back several parts of the conversation. He nodded. And just   
as suddenly, something came to Ranma.   
  
"Say, S…Setsuna-san?" He asked through another hiccup.  
  
Setsuna turned even redder, even though she knew he probably wasn't aware of the   
familiar tone he'd taken with her. "Y…yes?" She asked, her heart thudding wildly   
against her chest, sending the warmth she felt from the alcohol down to her limbs in   
waves and making them feel like putty.  
  
"I just remembered something. Just… just a second," he said as he rose and staggered   
away into his bedroom, knocking over several empty bottles on the ground as he did so.   
A few minutes later, he drifted out from the room with a worn-out looking backpack in   
one hand, and fell into the sofa unceremoniously. He untied the strings on the top and   
upended the bag, shaking all the contents out.  
  
"W-What are you doing?" Setsuna asked, intrigued. Ranma didn't reply, choosing to   
focus on his search as his hands deftly went through the pile of belongings on the   
cushion, temporarily fighting off the effects of the wine. Finally, he found what he was   
looking for. "S…Say, Setsuna-san, you were like, the Senshi of Time, or something like   
that, right?" He asked again.   
  
She nodded.  
  
"And, like, you could, you know, control time?"  
  
Another nod. Ranma took on an excited expression at that, looking at her hopefully.   
Blushing furiously under the close scrutiny, Setsuna turned away and stammered   
uncharacteristically again. "W…What?"   
  
"Can you fix my watch?" Totally forgetting that just a short while earlier, Setsuna had,   
hemming and hawing, just informed him that she had lost all her powers, Ranma asked,   
depositing a cheap, digital wristwatch into her hands. She turned the thing face-up   
reflexively, and saw the numbers reading "21:35" – almost an hour ago, she thought as   
she verified the time with her own watch. Just as suddenly, she realized the absurdity of   
his request, and Setsuna looked at him with a poleaxed expression. Her jaw fell open,   
and she stared at Ranma just as she had done when she witnessed, for the first time, a   
Brumdah beast on the deserts of Io back in the Silver Millennium, kill itself by actually   
forgetting how to breathe. Then her temper ignited through the haze of alcohol and drove   
her into sobriety in almost an instant.   
  
"You –" she started, waving a shaking hand at him, watch included, "you –" she huffed,   
groping for words to describe his stupidity, and failed. She settled for glaring at him, but   
then discovered that his expectant and trusting look was absolutely driving her up the   
wall. Setsuna debated whether it would be more satisfying to laugh at him, or just   
throttle him to death. Choking won.   
  
She closed in on him, and was about to clamp her fingers around his neck and squeeze   
painfully when her movement sent a gleaming object falling out of the pile of clothes and   
onto the floor. Surprised, she put her anger on hold and picked the thing up, and her eyes   
widened in shock as she thought she felt tiny, invisible sparks of time magic dancing on   
her fingertips when they touched the object. "Say, is this…"  
  
Ranma stared at it with an equally stunned expression. "…a piece of the Nanban   
mirror?" He nodded, mouth going dry all of a sudden. How in the world did a piece of   
Nanban get into his stuff, and he didn't even know about it until now?  
  
"This… this is the one where you shed a tear, and you can wish on it to go back in time?"   
Setsuna pressed on, growing more and more exhilarated by the second.   
  
Ranma confirmed absently with another nod. Then, realizing that Setsuna was clutching   
the large shard of Nanban in her hands and dropping a tear onto its surface, he queried   
weakly as a sense of dread filled him. "Um, Meiou-san, what are you doing?"  
  
Setsuna thought for a second before she replied. "I'm fixing your damned watch, that's   
what." Then, before he could realize what she meant, Setsuna danced away from him,   
holding the piece of mirror high in the air as she made several pirouettes. "Mirror,   
mirror, on the wall," she stated grandly, "I wish you'd take me back to the time when I   
was still Sailor Pluto!"  
  
Ranma gaped. Then, without knowing exactly why, he lunged for her. "Wait, Setsuna!"   
  
Light burst forth from the fragment of the Nanban, inundating the room and nearly   
blinding him. "No!" He yelled, turning his head to the side and holding his hands in   
front of his face as it engulfed him like a tidal wave.  
  
And then there was only white.  
.  
.  
(END CHAPTER)  
  
Special Thanks to: Figment, as usual, for pre-read proceedings and excellent advice, as   
well as Thermopyle for suggestions on how to further torment Setsuna. 


	6. Chapter Five

1

December 15, 1997

11:22 PM

The first time Ranma heard Tchaikovsky being played, his gut reaction was that some tone-deaf person was venting his frustration on a piano by applying a large hammer to the keyboard repeatedly.  Of course, it wasn't until later that he began to appreciate the finer points of what he had originally thought was an exercise in instrument destruction, but the feeling when he came to made him recall the experience vividly – only this time, it seemed like the hammer was applied to his skull instead.  

Needless to say, the logical conclusion of why he felt how he felt brought about an immediate conditioned reflex.  Ranma sprang up from the ground and turned to the irate fiancée who he knew would have been simmering in unrighteous fury right behind him.  

"What the hell was that for, you uncute… tomboy?"  The accusation trailed off into a question when he realized that where he expected to see Akane, there was only thin air.  _Oh, right,_ his mind supplied a half-beat later, _I left the Tendos over a year ago.  Slowly, other pieces of information started to trickle into his brain in tiny pipette-drops, like those old acid-base experiment stuff he did back at Furinkan when he was learning how not to entirely fail out of high school chemistry while still sleeping in class everyday.  He blinked, taking in the silence in the living room he'd grown used to, the empty piles of wine bottles strewn all over the floor, the various girly magazines on the glass table and the bunch of cockroach traps placed in every corner of the room as far as he could tell, and felt that he was still missing something.  He waited.  _

Given enough drops, the titration point was inevitably reached, and the solution in the beaker turned pink.  

_Shit._

"Setsuna!"  Ranma yelled, arms milling about as his eyes searched the room frantically.  Not having time to reflect on how sluggishly his body was moving, he steered himself towards his right, knocking over a few bottles of champagne in the process, and nearly shoulder-rammed into her room.  

"Setsuna?"  He flipped the light switch on and called out.  No Setsuna.  Not even under the bed.  He exited the room and veered to the empty kitchen.  

"Setsuna, where are you?"  Somewhat disappointed that only silverware and soy sauce bottles occupied the various shelves where he somehow believed Setsuna to be hiding, he closed the cupboard doors.  It took him a few tries to remove the lid, but aside from the bit of odor, the trashcan proved equally and unfortunately unresponsive.  Just before he could place his hands around the kitchen sink and peer down into the drain hole, however, a slight rustling noise back in the living room grabbed his attention.

"Ugh… what happened?"  Setsuna's voice drawled out in lethargic painfulness as she attempted to prop herself up to a sitting position from the sofa.  "Where am I?"

"Setsuna…" Ranma sighed in relief as he caught sight of the green-haired figure on the couch exactly where he turned his back to when he first woke up, and, not knowing fully why and unable to control himself any further, hurled desperately towards the woman he thought he'd never see again.

His dinner, that was; not his body.

2

December 15, 1997

11:45 PM

Having physically proven that years of intense martial arts training and possessing a monstrous metabolism still could not overcome the stupidity of using binge-drinking as a way of introducing oneself to alcohol, Ranma groggily detached himself from the toilet bowl, flushed twice, washed his face and hands thoroughly, and stepped out of the bathroom in the same fashion he first stepped onto an ice-rink when he met the Golden Pair ages ago.

Setsuna looked away from the floor she was busily scrubbing for the last twenty minutes and immediately went to his aid, placing an arm around him and guiding his feet.  "Here, Ranma-kun," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "You need to go lie down on the couch."  He sank into the sofa ungracefully and swung his legs up.  She knelt down beside him and held his back straight before he could rest his head against the armrest.  "But drink this first," Setsuna said, handing him a glass of water she placed on the table.  

Ranma did as he was told.

"Hey, Setsuna?"  A few moments later, lying on the sofa, Ranma turned his head to the right and asked.  And then immediately turned his gaze upward, realizing that from this position his face was less than a few inches away from her chest.

"Yes?"  Setsuna asked back softly.  Luckily, if she noticed this, she gave no indication.

"Sorry… about the mess," he said weakly, recalling the show he put on earlier.

She tilted her head slightly.  "Actually," she said, shaking her head, "it's my fault.  I shouldn't have asked you to drink with me in the first place."

Another pause.  Ranma took the time they spent in silence to fully reevaluate the bug-repelling perfume the woman was wearing, and was thankful that it smelled much better than the stomach contents he recently expelled.

"Hey, Setsuna?" he asked again, too tired to address the small part of his mind that wondered when he stopped calling her "Meiou-san".

"Yes?"

"I…" He swallowed the words back before he gave voice to his thoughts this time.  _What could I say?  That I'm glad she didn't just up and disappear?  She was probably looking forward to get back being Sailor… whatever it was._  "I'm sorry that it didn't work.  The Nanban, I meant."  He finished instead.

Setsuna looked away and shifted her legs under her a bit.  A few strands of green brushed against his forehead.  "It's… okay."  She replied after a thought.  "I didn't expect it to anyway."  

x x x

Sometime later, before he felt the drowsiness that crept upon him and lulled him into welcoming slumber, he remembered calling out again, half mumbling this time, "Say… Setsuna?"

"…hmm?" he thought he remembered hearing her say.

"You're still here, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Not wanting her to see the strangely gratified look on his face, Ranma turned away and closed his eyes.

x x x

Setsuna rose without a sound as she watched the pigtailed young man drift into sleep at last.  Almost aimlessly, she started walking around the living room until, by pure chance, she found herself standing in front of her own room.  Ambling inside, she closed the door behind her with one hand, as the other had somehow found its way into her pant pocket, caressing the surface of the shard of Nanban Mirror while the faint tingling sparks of time-magic danced elusively across her fingertips.  

She pulled the piece of glass out of her pocket, studied it for a few minutes, then placed it carefully inside a drawer in her dresser.  A flick of the light switch later, Setsuna was sprawled out onto her bed, staring at the dark ceiling above her.

Now, she had all the time she needed to figure out why she was still not able to cry yet.

Timed Vacation

Chapter Five

Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)

Composed by: CAGNET

3

December 20, 1997

9:33 AM

The sounds of piano roared and thundered in the apartment, striking against walls like furious tides splashing incessantly against the cliffs.  By the windows, under the morning light, Ranma rode atop wave-crests, commanding oceans, his fingers flooding across the ivory keys to make eddies out of the swirling notes.

Lost in the determination to hammer out each and every rise in Debussey's _Dialogue du vent et de la mer, Ranma was certifiably upset when he heard a lone B-flat note several octaves off-key join into the piece and disrupt the melody completely.  Abruptly, he stopped._

The raging wave face-faulted, and sank back into the rapidly calming waters in utter embarrassment.  

With a start, the pigtailed young man realized that the noise he heard was actually his stomach growling in protest.  He rose from the bench, and made his way into the kitchen.  After all, _La Mer_ was sure fun to play and listen to, but Debussey wasn't going to feed his ass breakfast.  

Hmm.  Open fridge, look for food, and… frown.

Two boxes of cheap, microwavable shumai, bought from the supermarket three days ago, were all that was left in the nearly-empty fridge.  Unacceptable; this wouldn't even fill his tooth linings.  

Nevertheless, he took out the packets of the Three-Minute-Wonder-Dim-Sum, tore off the covering in a swift motion, and stuffed the pitiful-looking portions into the microwave.  The low, electric hum ran even as he rummaged through the cupboards, hoping to find that he had missed a few cups of Ramen on his last search.  

No such luck, although that neatly wrapped can of Kanro-Gyo-whatever it was looked intriguing.  Ranma removed the lid and peered into the can.  Then he made a face.

_Ugh, it's just tea._  He couldn't remember when he bought it or why, since he was never fond of tea to begin with, and much less had the time or patience to brew it instead of using instant packets.  _Well, since I can't eat it…_ he shrugged mentally and put the can where it belonged.  

A few moments later, still standing by the counter, Ranma stared at the steaming plate of shumai that, to his disbelief, had shrunk even further upon heating, and decided that it was worth a few more bucks out of his wallet to invest in a dinner at a restaurant tonight.  _Yeah, I can ask Setsuna too.  Maybe she'll want to come._  _She hasn't been eating much for the last few days._

However, that thought was squelched as soon as it came up.  All it took was a surreptitious glance at the mini-calendar on the fridge to remind him of the meeting that he had spent all morning practicing his songs trying to forget.  He laid the upturned chopsticks in his hand back to the side of the plate.  

Suddenly, Ranma realized he wasn't all that hungry anymore.

4

December 20, 1997

10:27 AM

It was not often that one had the opportunity to truly admire the aesthetic values of backgrounds on a stage set.  For starters, common sense dictated that the atmosphere of the set needed to be clearly presented, but not so much that it could hinder the movement of the characters on the stage, or distract the audience away from the actors.  The color schemes had to match up with both the costumes of the performers, and not clash with the lighting effects at the same time.  Blinding the audience with glaring light was generally not considered a good thing, nor was casting rays of fluorescent green onto a drawing of grassy knolls in the countryside.  Considering the limited resources that the stagehands and stage artists and engineers had at their disposal, making a set look presentable at all was usually a miracle in itself.

Of course, this needed not apply to a set specifically designed for a bubblegum commercial in which the solitary color scheme of the background consisted of various shades of pink.  Supposedly, something could be said about how the use of bright pink, dark pink, Valentine's pink, Victoria's Secret pink, and other unrecognizable blobs of amorphous pink all contributed to a general pinkish and sugary feeling that the gum would give you, but provided with the choice, the various staff and workers around the set would rather have their eyes gouged out with skewers and fed to them like shish-kebob than to stare at all that homicidal pink.  Unless, of course, the person who was supposed to be standing in front of the background was missing, giving the director and his staff an unimpeded view of the monstrosity the stage artists had conjured from the deepest bowels of hell.

This was becoming alarmingly ritualistic.

Occupying one of the third-row seats off to the left of the stage made for the Limited Special Christmas-Pink Edition of the Pretty Peachy Party Bubblegum series, a cute-looking young woman with a peach-shaped face whispered to her companion under the increasingly agitated voice of the crew around them.  "Say, Senpai… shouldn't you try to look for Minako-chan?  I think the director looks like he wants to shoot somebody right now."  Seeing no reaction, the brown-haired girl put aside the newspapers she was reading and tapped her friend on the shoulder.  "Um, Senpai?  Are you zoning out on me again?"  

For Momoko, watching Setsuna at work over the last few days was enlighteningly painful.  More than once, she had seen the green-haired model drop her pens into her tea cup and hole-punch magazines while throwing away printouts of her work schedule.  And Momoko could swear she had never seen that shambling gait and slouching shoulders gig being done by a model outside the audition of the Japanese remake of "Night of the Living Dead."  Why, even the boss had been terrified two days ago, when he asked Setsuna to grab him some food and feed the fish outside the office, and found her dumping a slice of pizza and a can of Sapporo into the fish tank in the reception room while handing him a can of algae pellets simultaneously.  Granted, Setsuna actually looked somewhat better yesterday – at least enough that Momoko didn't have to constantly hold the doors open for her so she wouldn't run into them – but you could never really tell for sure.

Thankfully, it only took a few seconds for Setsuna to get her bearings today.  "Huh?  Oh… no, Momoko-chan, it's not that."  She waved a hand dismissively.  "I… I just had a lot on my mind lately."  Like trying to cope with the shock of losing even the last bit of hope to salvage the timeline.  The concept that perhaps she really had been consigned to live out a crummy existence where any meaningful achievement would always slip past her fingers like sand had stuck with her like glue over the past few days, and the more she thought about it, the less the idea of leading a life which she was going to be constantly ridiculed by relatives, hit on by dirty old businessmen, and sexually molested by random avian or arthropods appealed to her.  One could hardly blame her low spirits under these circumstances.

Fortunately, it also occurred to Setsuna a little later that she had been dealing with just this kind of life for the past year and had survived, if not exactly flourished, under it.  True, it did take meeting Takuya to break her out of her shell over a year ago, but even if she was admittedly caught flatfooted by how much it actually hurt to see the Nanban fail her, Setsuna was sure she could, without anyone's help, sort out her feelings in no time flat this time around.  Give or take a few days.

As it turned out, though, she did receive some help this time as well, whether she needed it or not.  She smiled fondly as, in her head, the image of a young man appeared, puking his guts out onto the floor with so much force that his pigtail was standing straight up from the back of his head as he leaned forward.  She had just woken up at the time, processed what had transpired, and suddenly found herself too busy dodging projectile vomit to remember that she was supposed to be depressed.

_Heh__, just like Takuya,_ Setsuna smirked inwardly and thought.  _Couldn't hold your liquor, could you, Ranma-kun?_

And, just as suddenly, her mind hiccupped as it analyzed that last thought.  _Wait a minute… Ranma-kun?_  _When in the world did I start calling him –_

_No, not going there right now,_ Setsuna quickly put the gears in reverse and backed out from that particular road.  Noting that Momoko had once again taken a worried look beside her, she cleared her throat, flicked some strands of hair past her shoulders and spoke quickly.  "Anyway," she began once more, hoping that the small bit of heat she felt on her cheeks came from sitting directly under a pair of stage lights, "Where's Minako?  She should've been here half an hour ago."

Momoko rolled her eyes at that.  "Geez, I thought you'd never ask."  A glance at a shaking figure standing a bit away from them, the younger girl went on.  "Um, I think you really might want to start hunting her down again."  She pointed in the direction of the stage.  Evidently, the director had taken to frothing at the mouth now to express the amount of his displeasure.

Setsuna's eyes followed the finger.  "Naah," she decided at length, "It's all right.  Minako needs to start learning how to be punctual.  I think a little reprimand from someone other than me would actually do her good.  In any case, what else is going on?"

"Not much," Momoko shrugged and said.  _Except that boss _was so freaked out that he actually gave me leave for the day to tag along with you to see what's going on with you_._

"I see," Setsuna said, half expecting the answer.  She turned to regard her companion better, absorbing in one glimpse everything from the concern written on her friend's face to the papers that were haphazardly discarded by the young woman's side, and tapped a finger on her chin as if considering.  Then her eyes turned back to the papers.  "Hold on, Momoko-chan," Setsuna said incredulously.  "Are you still reading that tabloid crap?  Didn't I tell you that Shukan Shincho –"

"–was on the receiving end of about twenty-one lawsuits for misrepresentation of facts over the past ten years, and was only good for reading if you belong to a secret occult sect that disembowels random people on the street to worship Hello Kitty as the dark god?"  Momoko recited the lecture from memory.  "Really, Senpai, just because it's a tabloid doesn't always mean the stories are fake.  And those tabloid stories are much more interesting anyhow, so the case is closed."  Setsuna rubbed her temples.  That girl and her love of outrageous rumors… "Plus," the subject in question just had to throw in the last bit for good measure, "What's wrong with Hello Kitty?  I happen to like them.  They're cute as hell."

"Hell" was right.  The image of herself walking into Momoko's bedroom for the first – and unquestionably the last – time came to the forefront of Setsuna's thoughts, and she quietly shuddered.  "Like," however, was not the suitable description here.  _I hope her boyfriend didn't mind conducting make-out sessions on a bed while sandwiched by an army of fuzzy, stuffed, super-deformed feline plushies each with a red ribbon tied into a bow on one ear.  _

Impulsively, Setsuna reached over the seat to grab the papers.  She was too late to stop her friend from being terminally afflicted with the Hello Kitty cancer, but there might still be time to cure her of her tabloid craze.  "All right, Momoko-chan, I'm not going to go through the whole argument again, but check this out and tell me afterwards that you still don't think the paper's completely bull."  She skimmed through the headlines quickly, found something that looked like it would suffice her needs to prove her point, and took a blind stab at it by reading out loud:  

–Juuban, Tokyo.  

A link has been made connecting the mysterious comatose victims in Juuban in the last few months with the recent rise in the ward's unsolved arson cases and a strange figure seen at night on rooftops in the area.  Although none of the witnesses were able to provide a detailed description on the figure, the general consensus was that it belonged to a female who spoke English, judging from the various phrases it was reported to have said.  

What was perhaps more disturbing, however, was the nature of those cryptic messages.  A noodle-stand owner believed that he heard the words "sell her peanuts" being uttered by a young woman before the windows of a lingerie shop nearby suddenly exploded, showering glass shards and pieces of female fashion undergarments into the bowls of noodles his customers were busily consuming before sending both chef and diners alike scrambling away for their lives.  "She definitely wanted to get her peanuts," he recounted later in the emergency room at the Nisseki Medical Center while being treated for minor injuries.  "The next time I see her, I'll be sure to have a few cans stashed away in my yattai and give them to her for free."

However, one Furuhata Motoki, a local arcade store owner, claimed that he heard something else entirely.  "I was just minding my business at the store that one night when this loud explosion knocked me off my feet," he recalled.  "Next thing I knew, I heard a young female voice from somewhere down the street, yelling out all kinds of things in English at the top of her lungs.  I didn't want to believe it, but I was positive that at some point she said, "Show her penis!", along with something to the tune of "Great scent: pee shower!"  That's when I realized I had to call the police."  

When prompted for his thoughts on the matter, he added, "I don't think I've ever felt so violated in my whole life."

Were the fires and destruction the doing of someone desperate for a late night snack, or a deranged woman with perverse practices who felt the need to express her pent-up sexual frustrations to the public in the wee hours of the morning?  And how did all this lead to the comatose victims in the area?  Police are still investigating the case and have so far declined to offer specific details on the matter, only advising the locals to be cautious at night while walking about the neighborhood.  "Obviously, the streets aren't safe anymore.  There's some loony out there disturbing the peace around our very homes," commented one detective who wished to remain anonymous.  "This person is probably highly dangerous, needs serious psychiatric help, and will definitely be brought to justice."

Meanwhile, perhaps the recent traumatic events that gripped the residents of Juuban in fear can be best summarized with the words offered by a young boy seen huddling against his mother on a night-bus as it drove down what was once a quiet and serene neighborhood.

"Mommy, I'm scared."  He said.

x x x

Perhaps, Setsuna reflected as she heard Momoko valiantly defended the bit of tabloid news off to the side, that wasn't the best article to choose from.  It actually seemed somewhat credible – no doubt engineered by the author to look that way – but despite how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, there still wasn't enough make-believe factor in it for Setsuna to completely refute whatever arguments Momoko could think up.  More importantly, halfway into the story, she could feel something in the back of her head almost… click, as if the article was actually trying to remind her of an important detail.  Unfortunately, no matter how hard she searched for it, the information eluded her.  

As it turned out, so engrossed was Setsuna in her own thoughts that she failed to see Minako finally sneak into the set with yet another prized autograph from a random teenage idol in hand, heading over her way to offer yet another lame excuse for being late.  Except, Minako being Minako, her attention was immediately diverted to the tabloids instead.  

It didn't really occur to Setsuna that her protégé was finally present and standing right beside her until the girl began to make a strange gurgling noise in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like an imaginative kid trying to imitate Godzilla after watching an old rerun on TV.  

5

December 20, 1997

6:11 PM

"I see," Placing the glass of water he was drinking back on top of the piano, Ranma looked over inquiringly from the bench towards the other end of the living room. "But you still haven't told me what that has to do with you getting fired from work."

Sitting cross-legged at her usual place on the couch with her silk flannel shirt hanging messily out of a plain knee-length skirt, Setsuna stopped examining her bare toes, kicked her legs out from under her, and sank into the seat with her head thrown back over the cushions.  She let out a frustrated sigh.  "I was just getting to that part…"

x x x

Purple was, without question, the wrong color for Minako.

"Breathe, Minako-chan, breathe!"  Seeing that this was once again going nowhere, Setsuna muttered a quick apology to the director in front of her, then turned around to address the rest of the equally disgruntled camera crew.  "Everyone take a break, please."  

Walking over, she pulled the shaking girl off the stage in a hurry, checked her watch, and promptly let her temper fly.  "All right, what the hell is going on out there?  It's twelve-thirty now, and we still haven't gotten one decent take.  You were supposed be chewing the gum and dancing around, not looking like you choked on the thing and started having a seizure!"  Without missing a beat, Setsuna continued, "And, in case you still don't know, "I'm going to kill that son-of-a-bitch, whoever he is," was not supposed to be your opening line."

The blond-haired girl drew herself up and stared back challengingly.  "Well, _excuse me_ for having a bad day!"  

"You're supposed to be more professional than that!"  Setsuna raised her voice equally, the anger she had bottled up inside ever since she took on the job as the manager of the bumbling idol-wannabe threatening to take hold.

"And you have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Minako countered just as swiftly, hands firmly planted at her hips.  Unnoticed by either of them, Momoko had wisely left the scene some time ago after taking one glance at the dark frown on Setsuna's face during one particularly disastrous take.

"Oh, I don't now, huh?"  Setsuna held up one hand and started to count away with her fingers.  "Let's see, you showed up late – yet again – because you couldn't wait to get another autograph, got both you and myself chewed out by the director, got so distracted with whatever it was that pissed you off so badly that you couldn't even walk straight when you were onstage, and even screamed out all kinds of obscenities in front of the camera… do I need to go on?"  Taking a good look at the defiant girl, who had opted not to interrupt for a change, Setsuna observed by pure chance something so out of place that it took all the heat out of her voice temporarily.  "Um, Minako-chan?"  She pointed, sounding unsure of herself for the first time in the conversation.  "What in the world is that thing on your chest?"  

"…eye shadow."  The girl mumbled almost unintelligibly after a long pause.

Feeling the onset of a bad headache, Setsuna shut her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose.  "And why were you putting eye shadow on your cleavage?"

The reply was so faint that Setsuna had to strain to hear.  "…the boy I got the autograph from said he liked girls with bigger… sizes during a magazine interview," Minako said, a hand waving in a curve in the air in front of her as a visual aid.  "I thought it'd make me look more, um, curvy, and that it'd impress him more." 

Unable to help herself, Setsuna barked a laugh.  "No, you look like someone who has post-operative bruising from a lung-removal surgery."

"Hey!"  Minako fumed, then piped down for a moment, realizing that this warranted a more calculated comeback.  A few seconds later, she found just the words to say, and molded the fierce scowl on her face into a nasty grin.  "You know," she began nonchalantly, cocking her head to one side so she could play with her hair, "I really have better things to do than to take this kind of abuse from some washed-up has-been model that has to play manager to keep a job because she can't compete with young girls like me."

The laughter died instantly.  

_Ha!  Got you there, you old bag,_ Minako exulted inwardly as she watched Setsuna turned to face her woodenly.  _Bet you can't counter that, can you?_

Then, as Setsuna started towards her with a strange definitiveness in her stride, the young girl became puzzled when what looked like a serene smile broke out unexpectedly across the older woman's visage.  _Hmm, that's weird, the blonde thought to herself.  _Didn't I just insult her?  So… why is she smiling like that?__

x x x

Recalling an earlier incident where Setsuna was smiling just as sweetly, Ranma quickly put two and two together and made a guess.  "So you punched her?"  He covered his face with a hand and asked tiredly.  

Setsuna grunted, testing the bruise with a finger.  "And she punched back."  She winced.

"That would explain the black eye I saw when I came home then."  Ranma rubbed his forehead with the hand, drew a deep breath, and went on.  "So, what happened next?"

"What else?  We had to get broken up by the security.  And even my boss couldn't save me from the board when I got back, seeing how we caused such a big commotion.  Funny thing is, I'm not sure I want to stay even if they give me another chance," she shrugged and said.  "So, I've officially hit an all-time low.  Guess the good thing is that I don't have to worry about my life getting any worse."

He agreed.  

"You don't have to nod, you know?"  Setsuna eyed him testily.  "Anyway, aren't you supposed to meet up with your fiancée or something?"  

"Yeah, well, finishing what you start is important, I guess." Ranma tensed, suddenly fidgeting in his seat.  

Setsuna picked up the hint of nervousness in his tone and turned to him.  "Hold on, you're not having second thoughts about this, aren't you?"

"O-Of course not," he said.  "Why should I?  But… since we weren't going to meet until eight, I figured that I don't have to leave until seven-thirty."

"Yes, you do!"  She ran a hand through her hair in exasperation and sprang up from the couch.  "You need time to get dressed, and stop by the flower shop on the way to pick something out for her.  Honestly, do I have to tell you how to go on a date as well?  Guys need to get prepared too, you know?"

"We do?"  Ranma asked, genuinely perplexed at this new revelation.  "But we're only going to the coffee shop!"

"Ugh.  Just… go.  Trust me."  Walking around the piano, she grabbed his arm, dragged him off the bench and shoved him roughly into his room.  "And don't come out until you look at least minimally presentable," she warned, before slamming the door shut.  

6

December 20, 1997

6:45 PM

A torturous thirty minutes later, the pigtailed young man was standing in front of Setsuna as she looked him over with a critical eye.  The silence in the room as Setsuna paced about, arms crossed in front of her chest and gnawing on a fingernail while she examined him, made Ranma distinctly uncomfortable.  It felt like he was back in that open assembly hall in junior high, behind a set of moldy, makeshift curtains almost inadequately drawn up as lines of students in gym uniforms snaked about on the other side, waiting in suffered silence to take their general physical exam at the beginning of the school year.  Any minute now, the doctor would be asking him to step off the scale and start pulling down his shorts.

Setsuna looked as if she was about to say something, then thought better and kept quiet.  "Hmm.  It'll do, I suppose."  She glanced at the blue denim shirt he wore for one last time before she decreed at last.  "At least they have fewer wrinkles than the ones you had on earlier."

Ranma let out a breath he did not know he had been holding, even though he couldn't really see the difference.  Blue shirt, black pants, big deal.  It's just another set he used to wear to school, that's all.  "So, what now?"  He asked impatiently, tapping a foot on the wood floor, waiting to see where she was going with this.

"Wait here," she said, walking over to the entrance and opening the closet.  "Here," she returned with a slightly dusty black coat draped over an arm.  "Take this."  Ranma took the thing, frowned at it, then looked back at her in question.  "It looks like it's going to rain today, so you might as well put this to better use than letting it sit in the closet and gather dust."

"Oh."  Surprisingly, his old roommate's raincoat fit perfectly on him.  "How does it look?"  Ranma asked as he finished tightening the belt strap.  "Um, Setsuna?"

_Just like –_

"Huh?  Oh, uh –" Setsuna shook her head from whatever it was that distracted her, and recovered.  "You look… fine."  She replied haltingly, which earned a look of suspicion from him.  "No, really, you do; I was just thinking about something else for a minute," she reassured.

"Ah, okay then," said Ranma, as something else crossed his mind.  "Wait, if it's raining, then you're probably not going out, right?"

"No, why?"

"Well, then," he paused to scratch his chin with a hand before continuing, "Do you want me to get you some takeout when I come back?  I forgot to get groceries today, and the fridge is empty."

Caught off-guard by the comment, Setsuna failed to speak for nearly a good minute.  "I'll be all right," she managed to say at last.  "Besides, I'm not that hungry.  You just worry about your fiancée."  

Ranma shrugged.  "Okay.  Anything else?"

"No... well, technically, yes."  Setsuna drawled out and spun the clueless boy to face the entrance.  "See that big white door over there?"  She trained her red irises on him and instructed with just a bit of excess elaboration, "Open it, walk out, and don't come back until you've kissed and made up with your fiancée."

Ranma, who had been listening attentively and was about to say how she didn't have to be so sarcastic about the whole thing, halted in half-nod as the words finally registered.  "K-Kiss?"

"You heard me."  Seeing that Ranma's legs seemed to suddenly take root on the spot he was standing on, she rolled her eyes.  "Well, why are you still standing there?  Unless you want Big Sister Setsuna to give you a proper demonstration on how to kiss too?" 

He fled.

"Have a wild time," Setsuna called out cheerfully down the stairwell, before heading inside and closing the door behind her.

7

December 20, 1997

7:43 PM

The blares of horns filled what little space there was on the streets.  

Watching the lines of traffic inch along as he proceeded down the sidewalk, Ranma noticed the lit taxi signs adorning car roofs ubiquitously down the road, and was secretly glad that he had not opted for a cab earlier.  On his right, standing out from the various neon lights across the street, a digital clock conveniently mounted outside some bank told him that he had less than twenty minutes to make it to the café and not be late.  

Reflexively, Ranma gripped the bouquet he held in one hand a bit tighter, even as the fragrance of roses in full-bloom wafted into his nostrils.  With even strides, he went down the street, passed under lighted signs from a row of stores that chose to stay open late to accommodate the holiday gift-rush that had started earlier this week, and unconsciously tugged at the black raincoat hanging over his other shoulder to make sure it wouldn't fall off.  The rain that Setsuna had promised hadn't arrive yet, and there was enough heat from the mass of exhaust pipes on the road spilling onto the sidewalk to make him feel uncomfortable wearing the thing – especially since the night wasn't particularly cold to begin with, given that Christmas was only officially five days away.  

A few well-dressed young men with well-oiled hair and fingers on their billfolds, trying not to look too obvious about their wish to trade trinkets for quick favors, gathered in front of a jewelry store just ahead.  He swerved around them, turned right at the next intersection, and kept walking, faintly acknowledging that he had crossed the unmarked boundary between Azabu Juuban proper and Minami-Azabu, just to the south.  Not far off in the distance, he could even make out the dark contours of the French Embassy building hidden in the glittering night.  The café was only a few minutes away from there.  Still plenty of time, his mind reassured him.

Navigating through the sparse crowd with ease, Ranma relaxed briefly, and focused his mind on other more important matters.  Like what to say to Akane when he saw her.

He had gone over the scenario repeatedly in his mind as if he were analyzing a fight, and still could not figure out an easy way to break the ice between them.  He doubted that he would get another chance to ask her out if their meeting turned as silent as last time.  As it was, he would thank his lucky stars just to be able to hold a conversation with her, never-mind the kiss that Setsuna had suggested earlier.  

Ranma paused at that image, ready to suppress the blush that customarily came along with the mention of a kiss.  Then he paused again, when he discovered that none surfaced.  It was startling to finally see that not only did he not know what he was going to say, he had equally no idea what to expect out of their meeting.  

His gait lagged as he sought to evaluate the problem.  Was he looking to patch things up with the old tomboy, and try to continue where they left off?  

_That would never work_, the more rational part of his mind informed him.

Or, how about asking her how Ukyou and Shampoo were doing, and maybe whether his mom had finally decided to redecorate the house by mounting a trophy panda head on the living-room wall?  

_No, no way; being hammered through wooden walls in the dojo was bad enough.  I don't want to try glass and concrete next._

Perhaps, then, he was looking forward to spending the time telling her why he chose to leave?  After all, she did deserve an explanation –

But… no.  Tempting as it might be, some things were better off not said.  Especially complicated things.  

Then, what was he looking for?  To see Akane –

_Akane__, in her yellow-and-green sweater, standing thirty feet away on the other side of the intersection._  Akane, with her back to the wall, looking as lost as he probably was, studying her coffee intently.  Akane, trying to loosen the grip he had on her wrist, her eyes on the exit sign.  Akane, her shoulder-length hair flowing in the wind, running away.__

_Plenty of time_, he said to himself again, with a bitter smile on his face this time, and quickened his pace when he realized he had slowed to a stop while he was too busy thinking about her.  

8

December 20, 1997

8:38 PM

Compared to his various past experiences, waiting for Akane to arrive proved to be infinitely easier than talking to her.  

His arms folded and resting on the table, Ranma sat rigidly in one of those window-booths, letting the cup of latte cool in front of him, and pretended that he was not looking whenever someone walked in to the coffee shop.  Tonight's customers, comprised mainly of couples who were more interested in each other's eyes than ordering drinks, and the dimmed lights, plus the sensuous, jazzy music drifting down from sets of ceiling speakers that couldn't make up their mind between imitating a bass or a low-pitched whine, did nothing but to heighten the atmosphere of your textbook, clichéd romance, and made him feel utterly out-of-place.  

Hearing the jingling that accompanied the front door opening once again, he quickly spared a look at the bouquet of roses he'd laid to his left before looking up.

A young woman, probably a receptionist at some company from the look of her dress, blushing; behind her, holding the door open, a man in his fifties with graying moustache and a protruding belly shaped not unlike his balding forehead, smiling.  

Ranma went back to staring at the space at the other end of his table.

The jazz piece ended, replaced by an easy, crisp tune played on a clarinet.  

Halfway through the melody, the chimes rang once more.  He raised his head, and lowered it again soon after.  A young man in a business suit and a simple red tie walked in, brushing shoulders against a plain-looking couple on their way out.

Idly, he leaned back against the wooden bench a little, and tried to ease his mind by thinking about something else.  _Hmm, I wonder what Setsuna's doing right now?_  He pondered, then let out a sigh despite himself.  _She's probably just shutting herself in her room again.  Ranma would never admit it, but he was starting to miss the old, pushy Setsuna who would snatch newspapers out of his hands to read them herself without a second thought, or slump into her couch, with her legs stretching all the way out, using the glass table as her personal footrest so that he would have to squeeze between the other end of the table and the wine crates by the wall if he wanted to walk through._

Chimes again, but this time the sounds missed his notice.  Ranma leaned back further, tilting his head back until part of his pigtail nestled into the space between his neck and the collar of his shirt, touching the backrest of the bench with the top of his head.  Through half-lidded eyes, he watched the last tendril of steam rise up from his coffee, dissipating into the air.  Chopin's _Etude in C Minor, Op. 10, No. 12  took over the fading clarinet from above, filling him with an impression of some intangible change in the air much like every other time he heard the piece, and, for just an instant, Ranma allowed himself to picture what it would have been like, if Setsuna was here with him tonight.  _

She would probably have been in one of those business suits, he thought, matched by one of her many mini-skirts; her long, lustrous green hair parting evenly at the front and resting perfectly down to the small of her back.  Her full, red lips would have bloomed brighter than the roses at his side, and the dimmed lights would have made her crimson eyes stand out like a set of meticulously polished garnets that bootlicking vassals would bring back in the old days to corrupt even the most righteous of lords.  Her hands would have been planted to each side of his neck as she inched her body closer to him, just like they were doing right now.

Wait, that didn't quite add up.

Ranma shook his head clear of the daydream, and looked at the pair of slender arms firmly lodged to each side of his head, showing unblemished, cream-colored skin.  He looked at the owner of those hands, and gaped.

"Set-Setsuna?" he stammered.  _What in the world is she doing here?_

Setsuna, in the same ruffled suit from earlier today, her face less than a foot away from his, bored her red eyes into him from above.  She was also panting like a marathoner who just realized he was out of shape halfway through the race.  A black eye and a tick over the eyebrow and above the bruise marred her usually beautiful features.  Her hair was in complete disarray.

Breathing heavily, Setsuna swallowed several times before she was able to speak.  

"M-My green tea," she gasped out, pushing the table all the way over with her hip until a corner dug into the wood on the opposite bench to position herself directly in front of him.

"What?"  Ranma asked, wholly puzzled.  "How did you know where this place was?"

Not even wasting time to answer, she threw down a torn piece of napkin that he recognized he had inadvertently brought back home last week.  The name "Celestia's Café", along with the address, was printed squarely in the middle of it.  "My green tea," she repeated, forcing her breathing to calm and rearranging her expression into an icy mask.  "The orange can of Kanro Gyokuro," she grated out between clenched teeth in a barely-even tone, when she saw that he was still not getting the message.

"Oh."  He oh-ed naturally, somewhat recalling the thing.  "What about it?"

"Where. The. Hell. Is. It?"

"Oh," Ranma spoke disinterestedly before his brain could catch up with him, "I threw that thing into the garbage earli–" Suddenly, mouth unable to close, Ranma held a hand to his lips, one fingers pressing into the tip of his nose.  A painful minute passed before he could voice out the appropriate response, when he realized what he had just said.  "Ahh… oops?"

Setsuna shut her eyes, and her whole body shook.  Her fingers twitched violently.

x x x

"I can't believe you threw my green tea into the trash," Setsuna grounded out, looking pointedly to the side.  Her foot touched an empty soda can left on the sidewalk, but she decided to walk around it before instinct told her to rear back and kick it away.

"I can't believe you got us thrown out of the shop!"  To her left, Ranma shot a glance at the coffee shop behind him, and ran a hand through his hair, dragging his fingers across his scalp.  "You didn't have to start choking me in the public, you know?" he accused.  "And couldn't you wait until I get back to tell me about the tea?  How am I supposed to meet Akane now?"

"That thing cost me a fortune!"  Setsuna stopped dead in her tracks and whirled to face the object of her ire.  "I spent almost two weeks saving up just to get a can of that stuff!"  Her fingers curled angrily into small fists at her sides.  

The menace in her voice made Ranma back away a few steps and turn to regard her.  However, the little fearful expression on his face was gradually replaced by a smirk, and, before he knew it, he was doubling over the sidewalk and holding his stomach, uncontrollable laughter escaping from his lips.  

If anything, this only fueled Setsuna's anger even further.  "You think this is amusing?"  

"N-No," Ranma wheezed out painfully between gasps of air.  "It's just that you should've seen your look… that black eye of yours doesn't really help when you're trying to be mad."  He paused, took a few deep breaths, and went right back to laughing.

Teeth bared dangerously, Setsuna closed in on him in an instant with outstretched hands.  "I am not TRYING!"  She roared, raining fists onto his back and shoulders.  

"Wait, hold on a sec –" he tried to dance away and failed, unable to find a good balance from his bent position.  "Look, I'm sorry –" he said again, this time attempting to catch her hands from behind.  Despite the randomness of her blows, Ranma was still able to capture first one wrist, then the other by a combination of skill and plain luck.  Setsuna struggled against grip, but only succeeded in making herself lose her footing, sending the two tumbling onto the ground.

Immediately, the old training kicked in, and he managed to twist his body about in mid-air, circling his arms around her waist and let his back absorb the fall for the both of them before she had any idea what was going on.  Once the shock of the impact had gone, he looked up tentatively at the woman on top of him, whose fury had been washed away by a look of slight shock as she began to register what happened.  "Hey, Setsuna," he said softly.  "Are you okay?  You're not hurt, right?"

She did not answer.  He shook his head to clear out some strands of green hair that had fallen past her shoulders and onto his face, and tried again.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" he stated as seriously as he could.  "I'll make it up to you, I swear."  

Setsuna opened her lips, but still no words came.  Instead, she hastily pushed herself off of him with her hands, and turned to the left, one finger raised and pointing in question.  Alarmed, he propped himself back up from the ground, his gaze following the direction of her hand.

And promptly slapped a hand to his forehead.  "Aw, hell!"

To his right, down by the corner of the street, wearing a sweater in a familiar pattern, Akane held her hands up to her mouth to hide her shock, her eyes full of pained disbelief.  Without a word, she spun violently on her heels, and fled around the corner.

"Akane!"  He yelled, dashing frantically down the street and around the corner, unaware that Setsuna was trailing right after him.  A few pedestrians looked at him as he called out her name, but there was no sign of the girl.  On the street, however, a single taxi that had stopped by the side not too far away rolled back into the traffic lanes and took off past him.  "Wait, Akane!"  In the blink of an eye, he made a one-eighty and ran back the way he came, chasing after the white car.  

Unfortunately, it sped up in response as well.  

Normally, a race between a man and a speeding automobile wouldn't even be halfway-interesting, but this was Ranma.  Whereas the car weaved in and out of lanes, eliciting horns and angry curses from various drivers around it, Ranma became nearly a blur as he blazed down the sidewalk, leaving innocent passers-by and their indignant shouts behind as they jumped clear of his path.  

The impromptu duel between the arguably best ex-martial-artist of his generation and a 1996, 1.8 liter Toyota Corolla 7A-FE engine capable of delivering 110hp at 5,600rpm lasted exactly half a mile.  It could have gone on much longer, of course, but the car, apparently not wanting to be bothered with an eventual trophy it would never have received anyway, made one last turn to its right, and left the man on the sidewalk looking as it turned onto the expressway.

His gaze remained fixed to the space where he could last make out the white cab, Ranma seemed to forget how to blink until he felt a sting in his eyes.  Suddenly, feeling strangely weak and tired, he wavered for a second where he stood before his knees gave away, dropping him to the ground in a heap.  He stayed that way for a long time, until the approaching sounds of high-heels clicking stopped next to him, and a pair of soft hands rested on his shoulders, guiding him back up from behind.

9

December 20, 1997

9:11 PM

On the road again, the pair walked in silence, except that the roles were somehow reversed.

"Ranma-kun?"  Setsuna called out for the third time, her voice unsure.  "I… I'm sorry about what happened."

As expected, the pigtailed young man kept walking, still studying the ground.  Setsuna bit her lower lip as he sped up, and hurried after him.  She did not know how long they had been walking, or even where they were now; all she knew was that they were not going in the direction back home, and that there were barely any people or cars sharing the street they were on.  

Just ahead, light spilled onto the sidewalk from a hot-drink vending machine.  Overhead, a lamp from a nearby post fizzled and died, making the glare stand out all the more.  

Abruptly, Ranma paused by the vending machine, one foot landing near the edge between the pale shade and the white on the ground.  She halted as well, stopping a foot behind him.  

He sniffed at the air, then turned to face her with an awful, strained smile.  "Hey, Setsuna?" he asked promptly, a strange catch in his throat.

"Y-Yes?" she asked back hesitantly.  The pause that followed made looking at his face even more unbearable. 

At length, Ranma spoke again.  "About that demonstration you mentioned earlier…" he trailed off softly.

"…what?" Setsuna would have voiced out in non-comprehension, but the words died when she suddenly felt a pair of lips forcefully pressing onto hers.  Her eyes grew so large that the bruise stung, even as her body was pinned against the vending machine by his powerful frame.

For an instant, she struggled wildly against this intrusion, making fists with her hands again and scraping the sidewalk with the tip of her heels.  But, for some reason, Setsuna found her strength betraying her, leaving her with no other course of action than to accept his advances.

_But, my green tea…_ a part of her mind argued feebly in the background.  She threw it aside, ignoring it as much as she did at the low hum from the vending machine.  Instead, she chose to melt against his body, draping her arms over his shoulders and letting lips return the taste of his feverish kiss. 

And, just as suddenly, it ended.  

Ranma drew his face away, leaving only enough space between them for her to see his glistening eyes.  He swallowed once, hard.  "Was it supposed to have been like this?"

Surprised at herself at feeling more disappointed than angry, it took Setsuna a few moments to reorient herself, and to see that the pair of blue, turbulent eyes he laid upon her was searching for an answer that more than referred to just the demonstration.  

Eyes strangely moist, she replied in a voice full of emotions that she could not sort out herself.  "Yes," she said, almost whispering.  "I think so."

Ranma gave the barest of nods, then pushed himself gently away from her.  

"…right," he drew a deep breath and said finally, looking back down the street.  "Let's go home."

x x x

Sometime before they reached the apartment, Setsuna was briefly startled as she found herself grabbing Ranma's arm.  She paid it no mind in the end, however, and laid her head back against his shoulder as she walked.

A bouquet of red roses, left on the sidewalk a few blocks from a small, cozy coffee shop, remained there well past the next morning, when the petals had been stained with a mixture of mud and the late-night rain.

(END CHAPTER)

Special thanks to Figment for his invaluable comments, as well as Corwin, Thermopyle, Sunhawk, Ebiris, Ranma007 and others who helped pre-read the chapter.  The green tea part was an idea taken from Corwin's devious mind.  

Apology goes to Gabriel Blessing, for mangling the titles of several of his well-written Ranma / SM stories.  

Finally, sorry it took so long for an update.  School ate up most of my time recently; as our family dog refused to digest any more of my papers after that last bout of constipation, I did not have a legitimate excuse not to turn in assignments and lab reports on time anymore.

- ukie


	7. Chapter Six

1  
  
December 21, 1997  
  
10:03 AM  
  
Whatever warm and fuzzy feeling Setsuna found never followed her back home last night. Naturally, since she headed straight for bed after they returned to the apartment, she didn't discover this little detail until the next morning, when she first stepped out of her room.   
  
Still rubbing away the sleep from her eyes, Setsuna stumbled into the living room, almost tripping over the table in front of her before she righted herself. She stopped, taking a moment to adjust to the morning light, and let her arms stretch all the way up and out. The old, wrinkled "Powerpuff Girls" T-shirt came up halfway past her thighs as she yawned.  
  
Suddenly, out of the corner of her vision, she noticed a familiar someone poking his head out from the bedroom to her right. Her arms froze over her head.  
  
"Uh," she said in surprise.  
  
Ranma's reply was just as florid. "Ah," he said, eyes widening; the one elbow becoming as stiff as the doorframe it was leaning against.  
  
Judging from the profound silence that followed, it would appear that each of them preferred the other to speak first. They waited.  
  
A light draft, gliding into the apartment from a window that wasn't quite closed last night, swept aside a set of slightly-wet curtains and peered into the room curiously. It flitted around the two, brushing its belly against the soft, yielding cotton on one end, then nestled its head into smooth, velvety silk on the other. Finally, growing weary of the play, it settled over the couches, patiently waiting for the conversation to come.  
  
x x x  
  
In the end, Ranma reluctantly volunteered.   
  
"Uh, nice day," he said.  
  
Noticing words were starting to come out from those lips that she had been staring at unintentionally, Setsuna ripped her gaze away in an instant, turning aside. "Right, right. Nice day," she agreed, then began. "Um, about last night..."  
  
"Last night?" Ranma interrupted. "Oh, yeah, last night," he repeated uneasily, scratching his head. "Beautiful night too, wasn't it?"  
  
"Uh, right. Beautiful -" Realizing that she was beating around the bush almost as much as he did, she berated herself mentally and tried again. "Wait, what I meant was, about last night, I, um, just want you to know that -" she halted, searching for the best way to put her feelings into words.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"- that if you feel like you want to talk about it any time, we can do that." There. Somewhat ambiguous; a suitable, Setsuna-like response, and left her dignity intact as well.  
  
Ranma looked like someone who had a hot potato handed to him and didn't quite know how to handle it. He fidgeted. "Oh. Yeah, uh, I'll keep that in mind." He brought a wrist up exaggeratedly. "Er, heh, look at the time," he smiled uncomfortably and said, straightening out the wrinkles in his shirt with a free hand and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. "I gotta go. Groceries, you know; I still have to pick those up."   
  
Then, before she even had a chance to wave him off, he was out of the door.  
  
Listening to the sound of retreating footsteps, Setsuna walked across to the other end of the glass table, and slumped into her seat. Out of habit, her hand reached out for some random magazine scattered across the floor to her right, but stopped halfway. She sighed. Perhaps Ranma had forgotten that he hadn't ever worn a watch since the first time she saw him, but she surely had not.  
  
She hoped that she could at least spend Christmas and New Year's at home with a little less awkwardness than this.  
  
.  
  
2  
  
January 1, 1998  
  
10:22 AM  
  
Or, she could spend Christmas night polishing her toenails on the couch, and New Year's Day studying the fading nail polish.   
  
Admittedly, she did quite a bit more than her nails on Christmas night, if listening to Ranma's piano sessions counted. He had gone through a few festive songs - for the occasion, he claimed - but she knew that his heart wasn't quite in them when he played. Sure, they were perfectly executed as far as she could tell, but everything sounded generic and mechanical, like something that every customer service department in Japan liked to play when the reps put you on hold over the phone. Truthfully, listening through the whole thing just made Setsuna remember all the more that he had still not taken up the clumsy offer she made on Sunday morning.   
  
Well, except for one particular song - the one that wasn't quite classical, and wasn't quite jazz, but somehow always made her stop doing whatever she was doing just to listen. Ranma slowed its tempo even further that night, and deliberated on a few notes, stringing the piece together with a solemn eventuality. As a result, whereas she felt like ballroom-dancing at sunset the first time she heard the piece, that night she only felt the parting of the guests at the end of the evening: a peaceful, tranquil procession out of the courtyard, with a tinge of sorrow, regret, and a backward glance at a sumptuous hall where marbled floors still reflected the glitters from crystal chandeliers overhead, and wistful notes from a last song that ended too early still lingered.   
  
She could only guess what emotions were running through his mind when he played it, and wonder whether those emotions would, in time, fade away like the last bits of rose-colored polish on the tip of her toes.   
  
With a blink, Setsuna swung her bare legs down from the cushions and stood up. It was New Year's Day; she had no reason to spend all day watching her nail polish peel off piece by piece, and ruminating about the past wasn't the preferred way for her to spend the morning either.   
  
Hmm, what to do, what to do... Ranma was out, physically; he had called out earlier and mentioned something about wanting to take a walk while she was still half-asleep in her bed - which left her as the sole occupant of the apartment at the moment.  
  
Setsuna went for the phone, but stopped before she picked up the receiver. It was probably still too early to call up Momoko, since the girl was probably having all kinds of kinky multi-some trans-species fun with her boyfriend and her legion of Hello Kitty dolls last night. The television didn't look appealing either; she didn't even have to turn the thing on to know that it was probably cycling through between live-broadcast of the New Year celebration all over the country and other equally inane holiday special programs. Of course, since this was a national holiday, it meant no postal service as well, so new issues of her seven different magazine subscriptions would not arrive until at least tomorrow or the next Monday, and she was already tired of reading "Ninety-Nine Ways to Strut Your Hips on the Catwalk" from the last issue of Models Monthly after the fourth time. With equal parts plea and pensiveness, she scanned across the room, trying to figure out what she could use to hold her boredom at bay.  
  
Her eyes fell on the piano.  
  
x x x  
  
A hand crept towards the mass of black and white, index finger extending from a loose fist. It landed somewhere near the middle of the keyboard, and stopped when the nail made contact with the bit of glossy, polished white.   
  
Delicately, Setsuna tapped on the key twice, testing to see how far she could safely press down before it would elicit a sound, and wondering if it would be the right one when it sounded. She tapped on the key again, but jerked the finger away like she'd touched a pot of boiling water when it sank down further than she'd imagined.  
  
Ugh, I don't see how people can learn to play something like this, Setsuna exhaled soundly and thought; this is like roulette and chess rolled into one.  
  
She shot a furtive glance at the front door, then chided herself for doing so. It wasn't like Ranma was going to be back anytime soon - and even if he did, it wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. At least, not as wrong as trying to maul his piano on that first day, so he probably wouldn't mind it anyway if she was just taking a look. Or giving the thing a little love-tap.   
  
She turned back to the piano, searching for the key she picked out earlier among the hundreds of its siblings. Again, her finger hovered over the white, poising to strike. She tensed; her teeth sawing into one another.   
  
And pressed down on the key like she was trying to launch a nuclear missile.   
  
The sound rang loud and clear, and while it was played without skill, there was a hint of muted triumph in it.   
  
"Mi...Mi..." Setsuna pursed her lips and mimicked, forcing the lessons she learned in the music class at a high school she didn't even remember the name of to come to the forefront, changing her own pitch to place the sound. Yes, that sounded about right for the start, she decided. Ranma had played it enough times for her to know that for certain at least.  
  
Now, how did the rest of that song go again?  
  
Slowly, she worked the piano, chaining the melody in single notes, one bit at a time; a pleased smile surfaced when she discovered the right key to the sound, and a frown settled over her brows involuntarily whenever she erred. Trial and error became her companion in the empty apartment for the next half-hour, but in the end, Setsuna came away satisfied. The stiffness in her shoulders had faded sometime during her practice as her posture became more relaxed, and she let her hands fall to her sides, her body leaning away from the piano.  
  
Only to return and begin anew a few moments later.  
  
This time, no mistakes.  
  
A welcoming warmth from the light outside sieved through the glass window panes and seeped into her skin, and the corners of her mouth widened into an expression of content even as she resumed.  
  
"Mi, Mi-Fa-So, So-Fa-Mi, Do;" she sang, so softly that she could barely hear herself in the deafening rush of her heartbeats.   
  
Awkwardly, a lone finger mapped out each pitch in her warbling voice with a slight delay, pausing only when she stopped to mark the break in the melody, and used the occasion to wet her lips before continuing.  
  
"Fa, Fa-Re-Fa; Do, Re-Mi-Re..."  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Timed Vacation  
  
.  
  
Chapter Six  
  
.  
  
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)  
  
Composed by: CAGNET  
  
.  
  
3  
  
January 4, 1998  
  
7:45 AM  
  
School resumed right around the corner of the passing New Year. Namboku Line in rush hour was once again a full-body contact sport between stoic-faced businessmen and uniformed students. Not a few fuku-clad schoolgirls tried to bring an arm up over their chests protectively while gripping the rails overhead with the other to keep their balance and their doe-eyes darted about warily, searching for leering faces in the crowd as bodies swayed with the momentum of the subway train.   
  
By the time Ranma hopped over to the Chiyoda Line, and finally found an exit through the masses at Nezu Station, he was beginning to think that it might have been easier to just run to the campus instead.   
  
He passed through Gedai's main gates without pause, but chose the long way around to get to the music building today, hoping that the walk would provide some precious quiet time that the lurching ride on the subway had robbed from him. Along the sides of the walkway, patches of grass peeked through the blanket of snow that fallen over the weekend. A few Gedai students, long-abandoning their usual ensemble of baggy jeans and T-shirts that carried slogans of all sorts of non-sequitur rationales for stifling coats, paused in their tracks and directed an odd look at the thin fabric of the lone, white oxford shirt and single-pleated pants he wore. He paid no attention to their stares.  
  
Even footfalls pattered on the pavement. Like everyday in the past two weeks, he couldn't spend ten minutes alone without remembering that Saturday night when Akane jumped into a taxi and took off without waiting for an explanation from him. He had spent nights alternating blames - first to himself, then to Akane and her habit of judging-before-listening, and finally to Setsuna's stupid green tea and the astronomical price-tag that it came with. In the end, however, no amount of reasoning or recrimination could change the fact that Akane had left him.  
  
As he had done every other time, he forced that thought aside and tried to think of something else. Losing, in any sense, never existed in Saotome Ranma's vocabulary. Therefore, not completing that train of thought meant he didn't have to add that word to his dictionary yet.   
  
Of course, soon as he stopped thinking about Akane, the image of him and Setsuna engaging in a blinking contest in the apartment flashed in his mind. It was hard not to; the two of them had spent most of the past two weeks doing just that - when they couldn't avoid each other, that is.   
  
He couldn't recall when he had felt so uncomfortable around her for such a long time before. Where did he go wrong?  
  
A voice calling his name broke his concentration. Ranma looked up.  
  
A short distance to his right, by the small set of stairs leading to the two-story rectangular building that was the unsightly Gedai library, stood his music professor. The older man tilted his head briefly to the side in greeting; the expectant smile on his face at complete odds with the depressing, ashen gray that both the outside of the library and his suit sported.  
  
x x x  
  
"A... contest? National?"  
  
"Offered once every two years," the professor continued without missing a beat. "Winner gets to go study for a year at Julliard's Institute with a full scholarship on an exchange program."  
  
Ranma's eyebrows rose even higher. "Julliard's?"   
  
"In New York," the older man supplied, adjusting the pair of half-rimmed glasses on his nose. "In the United States," he added, when no reaction came. "One of the most famous music schools in the world. Established in -"  
  
"I know that, Sensei." The young man said, a hand waving in the air impatiently. "But, I mean, why me? There are hundreds of upperclassmen that you could have asked."  
  
"-and they're all good musicians in their own right, you're right;" the professor interrupted. "But, you're something different," he admitted.  
  
Ranma looked baffled. "Different how?"  
  
"There's a fire in you that others lack, Saotome-kun," he said, face growing serious. "A flame, pure and bright, waiting to be released. You've tried to hold it in, but I've caught a glimpse of it when I first saw the way you played your thing down at the store." Overcome by the sudden passion in his own voice, he leaned closer, tightly gripping Ranma's arms in earnest. His rich, convincing voice carried far into the fields around them. "From that day, I kept saying to myself, 'I have to make this boy mine.' I've watched you for a long time now, Saotome-kun, and I know that your fire still burns just as bright as that first day."  
  
Unused to such emotions coming from his sensei, and touched by the utter sincerity in the man's tone, Ranma squirmed a bit, chewing his lips in hesitation before responding. A few students stopped at a short distance away from them to observe the pair, and he did not notice. "Um. I really don't know what to say, sensei. The first time -"  
  
"- was just that; an experience." The other nodded sagely and finished for him, understanding that the loss at the last concert was still fresh on his student's mind. "Don't let it concern you too much. Everyone has to have a first time sometime, and not even the most energetic young men like yourself comes out on top all the time."  
  
"But..."  
  
"You just have to let it out; I know you can."   
  
"Er, okay," Ranma conceded at last. "I'll do it, Sensei, if that's what you want." Still at a respectful distance away, the small group of students quietly grew to a cluster. A few faculty and visitors joined. Neither man paid any attention.  
  
"No, Saotome-kun. Don't do it just for me; do it because you want to." The professor lectured. "Trust me, you will have a great time," he added, "Think of all the things you can do with your wonderful hands."  
  
For the first time in two weeks, a smile formed on Ranma's face. It was hesitant and almost unnoticeable, but it was there nonetheless. "Heh," he smirked, the old confidence creeping back into his voice, "I haven't shown you half the stuff I got yet. All right, you can count on me."  
  
The older man's eyes shined with untold joy, and he loosened his grip. Collective whistles and a smattering of applause rose from the assemblage of people, making Ranma aware of their presence. The pigtailed young man turned to his teacher with a puzzled frown. "Hmm... Sensei, was there a pep rally at school today?" He winced briefly when a few cameras flashed from several photography students in the crowd.  
  
A sudden scream of "Die, Fag!" tore from an angry-looking young man in the midst of the group, but it was quickly silenced as others nearby fell on him.   
  
The professor looked away from the unexpected commotion, and turned back to Ranma. "I have no idea," he said with a shrug.  
  
.  
  
4  
  
January 4, 1998  
  
6:43 PM  
  
The soft sound of shoes carefully placed onto the floor followed the front door closing.  
  
Blowing lightly against the fresh coat of red on her nails, Setsuna inched her head forward, drawing her bare knees up closer. A mass of green fell over her shoulders and down the front of her flame-checkered tie-top, and she brushed it away hastily when a few strands almost touched the still drying polish. Too busy to even adjust the pair of beige-colored casual shorts that had been hiked up nearly to her hips, she waved noncommittally with a free hand and called out the standard "welcome back" without looking up.   
  
The light saunter in her roommate's steps as he strolled into the living room, however, did give her pause. "I'm home," he said casually, making a beeline for the couch next to her before sinking into the cushions. He eyed the bit of cotton between each of her toes curiously, gaze traveling up her slender, exposed legs, before settling on the tiny cap-brush in her hand. "Anything going on?"  
  
It took a moment for her to reply. "Not really," she said evenly. Was there actually some energy in his voice today? She shook her head, placing the cap back over the tiny glass bottle, and went on. "Called some agencies, and got two or three appointments, starting later this week. I want to try out for that fashion-designer job again." She directed a nod to the page of newspaper laid out over the table. A few circles marked in red ink dotted the classifieds section.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"And Momoko-chan called. She said she wanted to see if I would come over to her house Friday afternoon, since her boyfriend was leaving on a short business trip for his company, and she didn't have anything planned over the weekend."  
  
Ranma somewhat remembered the name. "That's your friend from the modeling place?"  
  
"Yeah," Setsuna said, heaving a small sigh. "She's been worried about me ever since I got fired, so she called me again. But, when I told her I was fine, she just started going on and on about wanting me to come over to watch this great classic movie that she rented, even though she already watched it like five times in the theatre when the thing came out over a year ago, and probably three more times on the tape as well before she called."  
  
He sweat-dropped. "Guess she really loves that movie."  
  
Setsuna cast him a sideway glance. "You have no idea. Anyway," she continued after a half-hearted yawn, stretching as much as she could without falling backward, "Other than that, I'm just doing my nails."   
  
"Oh?" he pretended not to notice the hint of a bare navel showing from under the knot of her top before she brought her arms down again.   
  
"Not as good as green tea, but I've always found it somewhat relaxing," she explained matter-of-factly without much jibe, then looked back down past her knees. "Oh, good. They've dried."  
  
Bending forward once more, Setsuna spoke up again after she removed the cotton balls from her feet. "You know, actually, I've always kind of wondered about this."  
  
"About what?"   
  
"My toes."  
  
Ranma leaned over to examine them briefly. Soft, well-manicured, and slightly longer than his own, but nothing wrong as far as he could tell. Then, an old memory came, and he made the connection. "You mean, like, how some people think that if you keep touching them, they'll grow longer?"  
  
She turned to him in surprise. "You think so too?"  
  
"Yeah. Me and Pops used to fight barefoot on the road all the time, and I've gotten some really bad splinters before. When he saw me picking the bits of wood out, Pops always told me not to play with my toes because they'd grow too long, and I wouldn't be able to kick as well."   
  
"Really?"  
  
"Well," he stopped for a moment, rising from his couch to sit down beside her, recalling his old man's words, "What he really said was that if I kept touching my toes, it'd make them so long that my feet would look like a girl's. And since Pops always said that girls were weak..." he trailed off, not bothering to give voice to the obvious conclusion from the brilliant logic behind his father's philosophy.   
  
"I can see how he would have said that," snorted Setsuna. Then, with an amused smile again, she added, "But I'm glad that someone else thinks the same way as well. I happen to like my toes long... like this. See?" Swinging her legs all the way around, she gently stroked the tip of one of her newly-painted toes with a finger.   
  
"Actually, this one is longer," he replied honestly, lightly pinching the middle one with a hand.   
  
Legs shifting reflexively, she had to stop herself from giggling from the light tickle. "You think?"   
  
"Sure... ah." At length noticing the smooth, supple flesh resting across his lap, the two froze simultaneously. An instant later, there was a space between the pair on the sofa enough to fit an extra person.   
  
"Sorry about that. I... guess I got carried away," Setsuna said, looking down pointedly. "Anyway," she went on, changing the conversation in a hurry, "I take it that something exciting happened at school today?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. You can say that," he said, also looking down. "Got selected to go compete nationally in February."   
  
"Oh, a piano contest? Congratulations then." Interest piqued, Setsuna inquired further with an arched brow. "So, what does the winner get?"  
  
He scratched his pigtail absently. "A year at Julliard's as an exchange student."  
  
"Julliard's?" Eyes fully wide open now, she blurted out. "As in, New York's Julliard's?"  
  
"Yeah. But, I'm not sure I want to go even if I win. I just want to win again." Then, before she could dwell on that last comment, he stood up, walking towards his room. "In any case, I gotta start practicing for real again now."   
  
Just as his hand touched the doorknob, however, Ranma stopped. "Hey, Setsuna?" he asked, calling over his shoulder.  
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"I... I've really lost her, haven't I?"  
  
"I -" Setsuna started, startled look meeting only his back. There was no doubt whom that 'her' referred to, but she did not expect the topic to come up at a time like this. "No," she said after a pause, carefully considering her words. "Think of it as coming out even, if you like. You left, and now she left. So, you guys are even, no?"  
  
He didn't reply immediately, and from her angle, there was no telling of his expression. At length, he drew a sharp, audible breath, and expelled it in a rush. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he said haltingly. Then, in a brighter voice, "Thanks. I needed that."  
  
The door closed softly behind him.  
  
.  
  
5  
  
January 7, 1998  
  
11:10 AM  
  
In a grand, spacious meeting room on the top floor of the Hanai & Co. Ltd., Setsuna sat in one of the comfy executive leather chairs, her hands tucked underneath the oak conference table and placed atop the immaculately-folded Sorrento skirt she wore. The matching purple Turin jacket converged into a triangle perfectly over of her chest, and an evenly-tied red bow arranged precisely under the front collar stood out against the pressed white silk blouse underneath. A composed, business-like smile adorned a face that was otherwise devoid of all emotions.   
  
She afforded a quick glance out of the windows. Blue skies with a splash of cloud - a rarity in Tokyo during winter, and a view of the bay from across Aoyama that was partially obstructed by the Canadian Embassy building in one corner, and the regional post office in the other.   
  
Nearly a room's length away, sitting at the other end of the conference table, a graying man with heavy glasses and a square face spoke once more, calling her attention back to the room.   
  
"So, according to your resume, Meiou-san," he paused, rubbing his fingers against the ribbed texture of the sheet absently before gazing up from the resume paper in his hands, continuing. "I see that you have a fair experience as a model and - a manager as well."  
  
"That is correct."  
  
"How do you think you can contribute to the strength of Hanai?" The man flicked away a few pieces of dandruff that landed on the shoulder of his black three-piece suit and asked evenly.  
  
"Excuse me?" Setsuna asked for the first time during the interview, not liking the condescending undertone that the man had taken.   
  
The interviewer clicked his tongue lightly. "Let me rephrase that. What makes you believe that you will be able to handle the duties of a fashion designer, or an assistant fashion designer at our company?"  
  
Taking a moment to hide the annoyance in her eyes, she replied matter-of-factly. "I can sew."  
  
There was a pregnant pause.   
  
The man blinked. "Ah..." he said, trying to understand the blunt rationale that Setsuna had supplied. "I see."  
  
Not giving him a chance to speak further, Setsuna held up a hand. "If I may?" She inquired, pointing at the sketches on the design board - no doubt a byproduct of a previous meeting - resting against the wall to the man's left. At his nod, she stood up and methodically walked around the table until she was in front of the board.   
  
"I'm well-acquainted with various modern and postmodern designs," she began confidently, "Especially in women's clothing. See here," she tapped at one of the sketches of a female gown on the right side and said. "This sketch of an evening gown is most likely an attempt to imitate the purism that designers such as Donna Karan and Calvin Klein utilize, judging by the neutral tint and the overall beige coloring and the sharp cuts at the edges along the dress."   
  
Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, the interviewer smiled briefly and gave a polite nod, egging her to continue.   
  
"However, I think that the neckline is too rounded, and the use of pistachio-green brocade fabrics at the ends too gaudy. This detracts from the overall simplicity the design tries to achieve." Without waiting for his acknowledgement this time, she skipped over to the next sketch and resumed her analysis immediately. "Now, this business jacket over here, along with the obvious shoulder pads, brings out a feeling of power-dressing fashionable back in the eighties in the West. But, the reduced collar style and small jacket silhouette have a minimizing effect on the piece, and matching this to bright-colored Capri pants, while visually stimulating, makes the whole suit look rather unprofessional."  
  
Feeling totally in her element, Setsuna cut loose now, flipping the pages to the next sets of sketches, and then the ones following that, laying her opinions on each and every design she saw. She was determined to show this officious interviewing just how knowledgeable she was in the fashion trends all over the world, and cut that infuriating, patronizing look he had on earlier right out of his face. Halfway through the lecture, she found a marker that was left on the window ledge behind the board, and began to adjust the drawings to her will. The extemporaneous editing session lasted for a good fifteen minutes, and in the end, when she had finally recapped the marker in her hand, large red circles decorated every sketch, and no page was spared.   
  
"-and the pearls lining the sleeves should be omitted here and the nipped-in waist made more prominent like this to create a variance of the Bar design by Dior back in the late forties without mixing in extraneous stylistic qualities." With a satisfied look, Setsuna concluded her session and turned back to the primly-dressed interviewer, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead absently. "Any questions?" Obviously not, she thought to herself when the man remained silent; he was too awed for words.  
  
However, contrary to her belief, he did speak at length; the smile on his face was excruciatingly strained as he voiced out his final comment. "Just one, Meiou-san;" he said tightly. "Do you realize that those are the designs I've just spent the past six months working on to present to the board for approval at two o'clock this afternoon?"  
  
.  
  
6  
  
January 8, 1998  
  
9:41 PM  
  
"Well, there goes that interview," she mumbled miserably under her breath. Just her luck - a prick of an interviewer who happened to have no sense of fashion. Guess I'll have a better luck next time.  
  
Looking around her, Setsuna could tell that Momoko's apartment was still as cluttered as ever. The living-room was about the size of her own, and there was a nylon couch behind a low wooden table sitting at one end against the wall, facing the television stand at the other end. In between, however, the space was amply filled with everything from magazines to romance novels to personal laundry to stacks of tabloids. Suppressing a shudder, she gingerly stepped over a pair of Hello Kitty panties near the entrance, not wanting to know how the thing had gotten discarded onto the floor in the first place.  
  
Walking out from her bedroom with a rental video box in hand, Momoko chirped up curiously. "Huh? Did you say something, Senpai?"  
  
"Oh, no," Setsuna replied. "Just talking to myself, that's all."  
  
The other girl nodded, not wanting to probe further. She took the tape out of the box, and handed the case over. "Here." Setsuna looked.  
  
On the front cover, a black and white photo of a woman with shoulder-length wavy hair was shown on the left, faced against a nerdy-looking man, with his hands tucked into his pant-pockets, wearing a zipped-down jacket on the right. Beneath the level of their feet, there was a small-scaled image of some city with skyscrapers, although the entire thing was so badly copied that Setsuna could make out neither the faces of the man and woman, nor the actual title of the movie printed in English letters below the picture of the city.  
  
"Wait a second," Setsuna asked, flipping the case over to its spine and squinting to read the equally smeared-and-blurry labels, "Is this... Is this 'When Harry Met Sally?'"  
  
The flushing of the toilet, along with the sound of water running and stopping from the sink, disrupted whatever the younger girl was about to say. Setsuna frowned.  
  
"Wait, Momoko-chan, didn't you say that your boyfriend was gone? Then who was -" staring at the figure that had just emerged from the bathroom, Setsuna momentarily forgot her words.   
  
Blue eyes, check; blond hair, check; red bow, check-check-check-check-check-  
  
"M...Minako-chan?" she nearly shrieked.  
  
Minako, for her part, was just as speechless, looking like she just choked on a plate of those most hateful mushrooms that someone forced down her throat. "Y-you?" she managed to squeak out, gaping and pointing. The blonde turned her gaze back towards Momoko in silent accusation.   
  
The defendant quickly interjected herself between the two, playing mediator. "Now, now," Momoko said hastily, waving her arms. "I know you guys didn't part on the best of terms, but Senpai here is my best friend," she paused, turning from Minako to address Setsuna. "And the boss just forked over some of the duties over to me after you left, Senpai, so I'm kind of acting as Minako-chan's manager right now. I just want you two to have a chance to make up, and let old things stay in the past, okay?"  
  
Seeing no reaction from either of them, she grabbed Minako-chan by shoulders and guided her onto one end of the sofa. Then, like a girl playing house, she led her equally-wooden Senpai by the hand, and placed the woman at the other end. Finally, walking over to shove the tape into the player, the brown-haired girl traipsed back across the room and plopped herself down onto the sofa between the two. In afterthought, she turned towards Setsuna, a wide grin on her face. "Oh, and Senpai?"  
  
Not waiting to see whether Setsuna had heard her, she went on. "This isn't 'When Harry Met Sally'," she said, hitting the 'Play' button on the remote. "This is something much better. It's called 'When Hideo Met Satomi'."  
  
.  
  
7  
  
January 9, 1998  
  
11:18 AM  
  
A wave of steam rolled into the living-room as the bathroom door opened. A few seconds later, Setsuna came out wearing only a white T-shirt that went down to her knees and a small towel on her head.  
  
Ranma pushed himself away from the piano, looking over to the other end of the room. "So, how did last night go? I went to bed early, and didn't hear you come in."  
  
Setsuna massaged her temples with her eyes closed. "Don't ask," she said, heading straight for her couch.   
  
"...that bad, huh?"  
  
She glanced at him, then rolled her eyes, dropping her head over the top of the cushions. "You have no idea. That must've been one of the worst films I've ever seen in my life... and it was three and a half hours long to boot. I didn't get back until almost one-thirty in the morning." Plus she bumped into Minako at the apartment, but she decided not to mention it. The whole thing was screwed up enough without bring that topic up to add to her headache.   
  
Resting his back against the wall, he asked with a snicker, "What was it called anyway?"  
  
"'When Hideo Met Satomi,' or something like that. I don't even want to remember," she said irritably, kneading the towel to rub the dampness out of her hair. "It was like a bad imitation of 'When Harry Met Sally', 'Romeo and Juliet', and 'Crocodile Dundee' thrown in together."  
  
"Hold on," he frowned, the names striking a chord in his memory. "Wasn't that the one where there was this hotshot cop getting together with the daughter of a yakuza boss? And there was this escape scene when the guy dragged the girl across the pond, stepping over alligator heads?"   
  
"The one where they met like four times in ten years and finally decided they loved each other in the end, and the guy had to scale the electronic fences of the mansion the girl lived in, dodging henchmen and guard dogs in the garden so that he could confess his love to the girl under the balcony? Yeah, that's it." Red eyes shot up from the other side of the room. "You've seen it?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, "I've seen it. I still remember that scene in the end when the guy missed a spin-kick, and the whole thing went to slow-motion right then, including his grunts and all the bad sound effects in the background."  
  
Towel and hair forgotten, Setsuna sat up and nodded animatedly. "I know. Ridiculous, isn't it? And where did he get that gun to shoot the Oyabun in the neck? That thing came out of nowhere."  
  
Getting to his feet, Ranma walked over and sat down next to her, eagerly waiting to point out all the flaws he remembered from the movie now that someone actually shared his view. "Yeah, and don't forget about that part when Satomi was on the ground crying before the explosions set off."  
  
"You mean, the way that water dripped out of her nose and down to her lips -"  
  
"- and then the roof crashed down on her, killing everybody in the end?"   
  
"Yeah," Setsuna finished. "That was ugly."   
  
Then, unable to hold it in any further, she began to laugh until tears came into her eyes.   
  
"You... you should've seen... the way Momoko-chan was going through boxes of tissues in that scene," she wheezed out, barely managing to complete the sentence.  
  
"She did that? God, that's how Akane reacted when she saw the thing," Ranma said, laughing as well. "We even got into a big argument afterwards because I told her the movie sucked."  
  
"It did suck," Setsuna agreed at length when she regained her breath. "I just didn't want to tell Momoko-chan that because it'd probably hurt her feelings. She's watched that thing almost ten times now." She stopped for a moment to look at Ranma, as if trying to assess his response.   
  
Lips trembling, he tried to restrain the smile that was threatening to break out again and failed, and that made her collapse into another fit of irrepressible mirth so hard that she had to lean against him for support.   
  
A few minutes later, when he finally regained self-control and calmed down again, Ranma became aware of a slight wetness on his arm. He looked, and found that somewhere along the way, Setsuna had laid her head on his shoulder, pressing her silky green hair into his shirt when the towel had become undone and fallen onto the floor. What was more discomforting, however, was the feeling of the soft, tender flesh underneath the thin fabric of her shirt when it made contact with his arm. From the way she kept smiling with her eyes closed, Setsuna was still blissfully ignorant of this fact. Oh, and her hair smelled wonderful.  
  
Briefly, a war between his old instinct to run away and a sudden desire to stay where he was took place in his mind. Instinct lost in the end, partly because he couldn't think of a way to extricate himself without alerting Setsuna. Therefore, he remained in place for the time being, and tried very hard not to tense his muscles too much to give his nervousness away.  
  
A bit later, he heard her ask again. "Hey, Ranma-kun?"  
  
"Yes?" he asked back cautiously. He hoped he was loud enough that she could hear him over his racing heart, because he sure couldn't.   
  
"What are we?"  
  
"Huh?" he didn't quite get what she was saying.  
  
Still not moving, Setsuna elaborated. "I mean, what's our relationship?"  
  
Her eyelashes are really long, thought Ranma, before the question hit him. "R...Relationship?" he asked back weakly, jerking back suddenly.  
  
On pure reflex, she snaked a slender arm around his, preventing him from his escape. "Momoko-chan was asking me earlier, and wondering if we're like some male-female friends. That's what you think too, right?"   
  
He was too busy fending away the memory of the time when Setsuna had given him an impromptu demonstration and they ended up in a similar position to afford a reply.  
  
"Ranma-kun?" She asked, lifting her head slightly and easing the pressure on his shoulder when he did not speak.  
  
"Er... hmm," Ranma stammered, then hastily came up with his answer. "How about this? Supposed you've just moved. And, in front of your new place, there's this big light pole by the entrance," he paused to let the image sink in before he went on. "At first you didn't like it, but as time went on, you found that you didn't mind it as much," he honestly opined.   
  
And immediately knew that he had given the wrong answer, when Setsuna stiffened. To his astonishment, however, she didn't pull away, but relaxed once more instead after a moment.  
  
"That... works?" He said, half incredulous. Maybe he was getting better at putting things into words now, he thought.  
  
He completely missed the snort and the hidden sarcastic tone that followed. "Yeah. Good analogy. Thanks." Then, letting her thoughts wander, Setsuna offered her own version of his scenario. She lifted her head and turned, moving so that the edge of his shoulder now supported her chin.  
  
"Let's see..." she began, words coming out in a lazy mumble. "Suppose you've just moved. And, in your new apartment, there's this big cockroach. The cockroach, being a cockroach, keeps bugging the hell out of you at times. And you, being you, keep wanting to smash that cockroach to bits."   
  
"What? I don't understand a word you're saying."  
  
Seeing the total sincerity on his clueless face, Setsuna smiled wistfully. "Never-mind," she drawled out at length, and let her head fall back to occupy its previous spot.   
  
As the apartment became quiet once again, there was only one question that remained in Ranma's head. It's not like he terribly minded the position they were in, after he had time to get used to it -   
  
But how long was he supposed to stay like this?  
  
.  
  
8  
  
January 9, 1998  
  
11:49 AM  
  
The answer arrived in the form of a telephone call.  
  
Relief was painstakingly obvious on his face when Ranma gently pushed himself away to reach down for the phone that was on the floor, hidden behind the corner that the two couches formed.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
Setsuna obligingly let his other arm go and straightened, drawing a leg up to the couch and using it to create a bit of space between them; the lazy smile was gradually replaced by a mixed expression that resembled a cross between a small, petulant pout and a trace of embarrassed disbelief.  
  
While she was still sorting out which emotion she should wear for the occasion, Ranma's eyes had widened for an instant, before his face turned solemn. He slowly handed the receiver to Setsuna, stretching the telephone cord until it became taut. "Here," he said quietly. "It's for you."  
  
Somewhat alarmed by the change in his tone, Setsuna brought the handset up. Before it even reached her ears, she could make out the hysterical sobs that was Momoko's voice coming from the other end.   
  
"Momoko-chan?" She asked urgently, fearing that something had happened to her friend. "...are you okay?"  
  
"N-No, it - It's not me," the girl answered hoarsely in broken stutters. "It's Minako-chan."  
  
"Minako-chan?" Setsuna queried. Didn't she just see her last night at Momoko's place?  
  
"She - she was supposed to have a photo session today, but she didn't show up. So, boss told me to call her. At first, I just thought that she overslept, because the movie ended so late, but... Minako-chan - she's -"  
  
The grip Setsuna had on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white and trembled. The colors drained from her face, even as she was trying to make sense of what her friend was saying between the sniffles. I must not have heard that right, she thought. Feebly, she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Say again?"  
  
"Minako-chan... she got in an accident on her way home, and she's hurt really bad," Momoko said. "She's in the hospital."  
  
.  
  
(END CHAPTER)  
  
.  
  
Special thanks once again go to Figment and Thermopyle for their help on pre-reading, and suggestions on editing the scene at Momoko's apartment.  
  
- ukie 


End file.
